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SHAKESPEARE'S    WORKS. 

[WHITE.] 

IN   TWELVE   VOLUMES. 
Volume   III. 

COMEDIES. 

Measure  foe  Measure. 

The  Comeby   of  Erkohs. 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

Lote's  Labour's  Lost. 


t  1  3       11 


THE    WORKS    OF 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


THE  PLAYS  EDITED  FROM  THE  FOLIO  OF  MDCXXIII,  WITH  VAKIOUS 

READINGS  FROM  ALL  THE  EDITIONS  AND  ALL  THE  COMMENTATORS, 

NOTES,  INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS,  A  HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF 

THE  TEXT,  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  RISE  AND  PROGRESS  OF 

THE   ENGLISH   DRAMA,    A  MEMOIR   OF  THE   POET, 

AND   AN   ESSAY  UPON   HIS   GENIUS 


By    RICHARD    GRANT   WHITE 


VOL.  III. 


BOSTON 

LITTLE    BROWN     AND    COMPANY 

1857 


^ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858,  by 

RICHARD  GRANT  WHITE. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,      C.\MI1RID0£: 
PIUNTED   BY   H.    0.    UOUOHTON  AND  COMP.iNY. 

STEREOTYPED  AT  THE 
BOSTON     STEREOTYPE     FOUNDRY. 


c  .     •        I 


«   • 
t   t   ■ 


c     ft 

<  C 


^1  53 
V.3 


MEASURE    FOR    MEASURE. 


(3) 


25! 


Measure  for  Measure  occupies  twenty-four  pages  in  the  folio  of 
162U  ;  viz.,  from  p.  61  to  p.  8-1,  inclusive,  in  the  division  of  Com- 
edies. It  is  there  divided  into  Acts  and  Scenes  and  is  followed 
by  a  list  of  the  Dramatis  Personae  under  the  head,  "  The  names 
of  all  the  Actors."  From  this  list,  however,  Varriits  and  the 
Justice  are  omitted :  above  it  is  "  The  Scene  Vienna." 


(4) 


MEASURE    FOR    MEASURE. 


INTRODUCTION. 


SHAKESPEARE  found  the  plot  and  the  principal  characters 
of  this  play  made  to  his  hand  in  the  Promos  and  Cassandra 
of  George  Whetstone  -which  was  published  in  1578,  but  never 
acted.  "Whetstone  founded  his  play  upon  the  fifth  Novel  of  the 
eighth  Decade  of  Giraldi  Ciiithio's  Hecatommithi,  a  collection  of 
tales  similar  to  Boccaccio's  Decamerone,  and  in  which  also  Shake- 
speare found  the  tale  upon  which  he  constructed  his  Othelh. 
The  course  of  the  story  in  Cinthio's  novel  is  indicated  -n-ith  suffi- 
cient particularity  in  its  long  title,  which  is  as  follows  :  —  "  Jiiriste 
is  sent  by  the  Emperor  Maximihan  to  Inspruch,  where  he  causes 
a  yoimg  man,  who  has  violated  a  virgin,  to  be  arrested,  and  con- 
demns him  to  death :  his  sister  endeavours  to  free  him  :  Juriste 
holds  out  hopes  to  the  lady  that  he  will  marry  her  and  liberate 
her  brother  :  she  lies  with  him,  and  the  same  night  Juriste  causes 
the  young  man's  head  to  be  struck  off,  and  sends  it  to  his  sister. 
She  complains  to  the  Emperor,  who  causes  Juriste  to  marry  the 
lady ;  after  which  he  orders  him  to  be  put  to  death :  the  lady  saves 
him,  and  Uves  -with  him  most  lovingly."  * 

Whetstone  himself  pubhshed  in  1582  a  book  of  tales  similar  to 
that  of  Cinthio,  which  he  called  the  Hejitameron  of  Civil  Dis- 
courses, and  one  of  these  tales  he  founded  on  Cinthio's  story  of 
Juriste.  The  foUowmg  argument,  prefixed  to  his  play  of  Promos 
and  Cassandra,^  gives  a  very  good  description  of  the  course  of  its 

*  '•  Juriste  e  mandate  da  Massimiano,  Imperadore,  in  Ispruchi,  ove  fa  pren- 
dere  un  giovane.  Tiolatore  di  una  vergine,  e  condannalo  4  niorte :  la  sorella 
cerca  di  liberarlo  :  Juriste  da  speranza  alia  donna  di  pigliarla  per  moglie,  e  di 
darle  libero  il  fratello  :  ella  con  lui  si  giace,  e  la  notte  istessa  Juriste  f4  tagliar 
al  giovane  la  testa,  e  la  manda  alia  sorella.  Ella  ne  fi  querela  all'  Imperadore, 
il  quale  fi  sposare  ad  Juriste  la  donna ;  poscia  lo  fi  dare  ad  essere  ucciso.  La 
donna  lo  libera,  e  con  lui  si  vive  amorevolissimamente." 

+  "The  right  excellent  and  famous  Historye  of  Promos  and  Cassandra.  diTid- 
ed  into  Commical  Discourses:  In  the  fyrste  Parte  is  sliowne  the  unsufferalle 

(5) 


6  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE. 

incidents,  but  is  defective  in  two  or  three  points  important  to  the 
student  of  Shakespeare  :  — 

"  In  the  Cytie  of  JuUo  (sometime  under  the  dominion  of  Cor- 
vinus,  King  of  Hungarie  and  Boemia)  there  was  a  law,  that  what 
man  so  ever  committed  Adultery,  should  lose  his  head,  and  the 
woman  oifender  should  weare  some  disguised  apparell,  during  her 
life,  to  make  her  infamouslye  noted.     This  severe  lawe,  by  the 
favour  of  some  mercifuU  magistrate,  became  little  regarded,  untill 
the  time  of  Lord  Promos  auctority  :  who,  convictmg  a  yong  Gen- 
tleman named  Andrugio  of  incontinency,  condenmed  both  him. 
and  his  minion,  to  the  execution  of  this  statute.     Andrugio  had 
a  verj'  vertuous  and  bea\rtiful  Gentlewoman  to  his  Sister,  named 
Cassandra :  Cassandra,  to  enlarge  her  brothers  life,  submitted  an 
humble  petition  to  the  Lord  Promos  :  Promos  regarding  her  good 
bchavioins,  and  fantaspng  her  great  beawtie,  was  much  delighted 
with  the  swecte  order  of  her  talke  :  and  doying  good,  that  evil 
might  come  thereof,  for  a  time  he  reprj^ed  her  brother  :   but, 
•wicked  man,  toimiing  his  Uking  unto  unlawfull  lust,  he  set  downe 
the  spoile  of  her  honour  raunsome  for  her  Brothers  life :  chaste 
Cassandra,   abhorring  both  him   and  his  sute,  by  no  persuasion 
would  yeald  to  this  raunsome.     But,  in  fine,  wonne  with  the  im- 
portunityc  of  her  Brother,  (pleading  for  life,)  ujx)n  these  conditions 
she  agreede  to  Promos.     First  that  he  should  pardon  her  brother, 
and  after  mairy  her.     Promos  as  feareless  in  promisse,  as  carelesse 
in  performance,  with  soUemne  vowe,  sygned  her  conditions  :  but 
worse  then  any  Infydel,  his  will  satisfyed,  he  performed  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other :  for  to  keepe  his  aucthoritye,  unspotted  with 
favour,  and  to  prevent  Cassandrae's  clamors,  he  commaunded  the 
Gayler  secretly  to  present  Cassandra  with  her  brother's  head.    The 
Gayler,  [touched]  with  the  outcryes  of  Andrugio,  abhoriying  Pro- 
mos lewdenes,  by  the  providence  of  God,  provyded  thus  for  his 
safety.     He  presented  Cassandra  with  a  felons  head  newhe  exe- 
cuted, who  (being  mangled,  knew  it  not  irom  her  brother's,  by  the 
Gaylor,  who  was  set  at  libcrtic)  was  so  agreeved  at  this  trecherye, 
that  at  the  pointe  to  kyl  herselfe,  she  spared  that  stroke  to  be 
avenged  of  Promos.     And,   devisyng  a  way,  she  concluded  to 
make  her  fortimes  knowne  unto  the  kynge.     She  (executinge  this 
resolution)  was  so  highly  favoiu'ed  of  the  king,  that  forthwith  he 


abuse  of  a  lowdo  Magistrate,  the  vertuous  behaviours  of  a  chaste  Ladye,  the 
uncontrowled  leawdenoss  of  a  favoured  Curtisan,  and  the  undeserved  Estima- 
tiiiii  of  a  pernicious  I'arasyte :  In  tlie  second  Parte  is  discoursed  the  perfect 
M.i;.'iianiinitye  of  a  noble  Kingc,  in  rlicckinj;  A'ice  and  favouringo  Vertue : 
Wlierein  is  sliowne  tin-  Kuyne  and  Overthrowe  of  dishonest  Practises,  with  the 
Advauucement  of  upright  Dealing." 

IJnth  Whetstone's  tale  and  Cinthio's  are  printed  in  Collier's  Shakespeare's 
Lihritry. 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

hasted  to  do  justice  on  Promos  :  whose  judgment  was,  to  marrye 
Cassandra,  to  repaire  her  erased  honoiu- :  which  donne,  for  his 
hainous  offence  he  should  lose  liis  head.  This  marryage  solemp- 
nised,  Cassandra,  tyed  in  the  greatest  bondes  of  affection  to  her 
husband,  became  an  earnest  suter  for  his  Ufe :  the  kinge  (ten- 
dringe  the  generall  benefit  of  the  common  weale,  before  her  special 
case,  although  he  favoured  her  much)  would  not  graunt  her  sute. 
Andrugio  (disguised  amonge  the  company)  sorrowing  the  griefe 
of  his  sister,  bewTayde  his  safetye,  and  craved  pardon.  The  kinge, 
to  renowne  the  vertues  of  Cassandra,  pardoned  both  him  and  Pro- 
mos. The  circumstances  of  this  rare  Historye,  in  action  lyvelye 
foUoweth." 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Whetstone  improved  greatly  upon 
the  plot  of  Cinthio's  tale,  for  dramatic  purposes,  by  causing  the 
brother  to  be  condenmed  for  a  far  more  venial  fault  than  that  laid 
to  his  charge  by  the  ItaUan  author,  and  by  substituting  another 
prisoner  as  the  victim  of  the  governor's  faithless  cruelty.  Upon 
Whetstone's  plot,  Shakespeare  again  improved  by  still  further 
mitigating  the  brother's  error,  by  making  the  monarch  himself  the 
prmcipal  agent  in  working  out  the  denouement,  and,  above  all, 
by  the  introduction  of  another  female  character,  betrothed  (which 
in  early  times  was  about  the  same  as  married)  to  the  deputy,  and 
whose  intervention  saves  his  intended  victim  from  compliance  with 
his  conditions,  while  he  is  yet  made  answerable  for  the  same  crimes 
of  which  he  is  guilty  even  m  the  original  ItaUan  story.  But  Shake- 
speare not  only  adopted,  with  these  great  improvements.  Whet- 
stone's variations  from  Cinthio's  novel :  he  found  in  Fromos  and 
Cassandra  another  set  of  characters,  the  Bawd,  the  Fantastic,  the 
Clown,  and  the  Constable,  which  he  also  introduced  but  re-created. 
He  followed,  too,  in  some  measure,  the  arrangement  of  Whetstone's 
Scenes,  and  in  certain  passages  of  the  earlier  play  we  find  the  germs 
of  others  in  the  later.     Thus,  for  instance,  in  these  lines, 

"  Justice  wyll  say  thou  dost  no  cryme  commit, 
For  in  forst  faultes  is  no  intent  of  yll," 

is  the  origin  of  these, 

"Our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  accompt." 

So  this  passage,  in  a  soliloquy  by  Promos,  after  Cassandra  has 
yielded  to  him, 

"  No  force  for  that  my  might  commamideth  right ; 
Hir  privie  maime  hir  ojoen  crj-es  wiU  staye. 


8  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE. 

Or  if  not  so,  my  frowning  will  hir  fright  : 
And  thus  shall  rule  conceale  my  filthy  deed," 

is  plainly  but  the  counteri)art  of  the  following,  in  Angelos  soUloquy, 
when  he  supposes  himself  to  be  in  a  similar  position  with  regard 
to  Isabella  :  — 

"But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  agaiast  her  maiden  loss, 
How  might  she  tongue  me  !     Yet  Reason  dares  her  on  : 
For  my  authority  here  bears  up  a  credent  bulk 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch 
But  it  confoimds  the  breather." 

One  of  Whetstone's  comic  characters,  too,  says,  "  A  holie  hood 
makes  not  a  frier  devoute,"  which  Is  but  a  slight  metrical  para- 
phrase of  the  Latin  saw,  "  Cundlus  non  facit  monachum,"  which 
Shakespeare  puts  in  Lucio's  mouth.  These  are  but  a  few  out  of 
many  similar  instances ;  and  from  all  that  has  gone  before,  the 
reader  can  form  his  own.  opinion  as  to  the  sort  of  obligation 
imder  which  Shakespeare  was  to  Whetstone.  He  will  probably 
not  agree  with  Mr.  Collier,  that  "  Shakespeare  was  not  indebted  to 
Whetstone  for  a  single  thought,  nor  for  a  casual  expression,  ex- 
cepting as  far  as  similarity  of  situation  may  be  said  to  have  neces- 
sarily occasioned  con-esponding  states  of  feeling  and  employment 
of  language,"  but  he  may  safely  rest  assured  that  Promos  and 
Cassandra  is  about  as  much  like  Measure  for  Measure,  as  heaps  of 
unshaped  clay  and  pits  of  sand  and  lime  are  like  an  Elizabethan 
mansion. 

The  text  of  this  play  is  generally  well  prmted  in  the  foho ;  but 
it  contains  several  pa-^sages  which  give  more  trouble  to  the  editor 
and  the  reader  than  any  others  which  occur  in  that  volume.  To 
those  not  disciplined  in  the  construction  of  language,  and  unac- 
customed to  trace  the  logical  connection  of  thoughts  apparently 
remote,  the  style  of  all  the  serious  parts  of  Measure  for  Measure  is 
involved  and  therefore  more  or  less  obscm-e ;  and  hence  the  necessity 
for  the  explanation  of  passages  which  are  not  in  any  way  corrupt- 
ed, as  well  as  the  difficulty  which  has  been  found  in  restoring 
those  that  are,  and  the  supposition  by  many  intelligent  editors  and 
commentators  that  coiTuptiou  existed  in  many  passages,  which, 
upon  a  closer  and  more  analytical  examination,  have  been  found 
pure.  The  versification  Ls  rugged  and  iiTcgular  ;  but  it  seems  to 
be  80  from  design,  not  carelessness.     Conjectural  emendation  is 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

thrown  entirely  upon  its  own  resources  in  restoring  some  ex- 
tremely difficult  and  unquestionably  corrupted  passages  in  this 
play ;  for  it  receives  no  aid  from  any  earlier  copy  than  that  of 
the  first  folio. 

AVe  have  no  means  of  determining  with  great  approach  to  ac- 
curacy the  time  when  Measure  for  Measure  was  written.  That  it 
was  written  in  Shakespeare's  maturit)',  its  own  profound  philos- 
ophy, strikingly  akin  to  that  of  Hamlet,  is  sufficient  e^adence : 
that  it  had  not  been  produced  in  1597,  we  may  feel  quite  confi- 
dent, from  the  omission  of  it  from  the  enumeration  of  its  author's 
works  in  Meres'  Palladis  Tamia  :  that  it  was  produced  before  1604, 
we  know,  from  an  entry  in  the  accounts  of  the  ReA^els  at  Court 
from  October,  1604,  to  October,  1605,  in  the  folloAving  words :  — 

"  By  his  Ma"^  Plaiers.  On  St.  Stivens  night  in  the  Hall,  a 
Play  caled  Mesur  for  Mesur." 

In  a  column  of  the  account  devoted  to  "The  Poets  which  mayd 
the  Plaies,"  the  name  of  a  Mr.  "  Shaxberd,"  apparently  not  so 
well  known  then  as  it  is  now,  is  entered.  The  passage  in  the 
first  Scene,  which  contains  a  flattering  allusion  to  the  disposition 
of  King  James  to  deny  his  subjects  access  to  his  person,  has  been, 
with  some  reason,  supposed  to  fix  the  date  of  the  production  of 
this  play  after  the  accession  of  that  monarch ;  and  although  it 
might  have  been  inserted  for  the  special  occasion  of  the  perform- 
ance at  court  in  1604,  and  afterward  retained,  the  supposition 
jumps  so  well  with  the  character  of  the  play  itself  and  \\i\h  our 
knowledge  as  to  the  date  of  the  production  of  other  plays,  that 
■we  may  safely  conclude,  with  Mr.  Colher,  that  Measure  for  Meas- 
tire  was  written  either  at  the  close  of  1603,  or  in  the  beginning 
of  1604. 

The  period  of  the  action  of  this  play,  which  has  been  hitherto 
considered,  and  even  pronounced,  to  be  undeterminable,  is  clearly 
defined  by  the  first  few  lines  of  the  second  Scene  of  the  first  Act, 
and  by  our  knowledge  of  the  source  of  the  plot.  "Whetstone  tells 
us,  as  we  have  seen,  that  the  incidents  took  place  "  in  the  city  of 
Juho,  sometime  under  the  dominion  of  Corvinus,  King  of  Hun- 
gar\^  and  Bohemia,"  and  in  his  Heptameron  the  tale  begins,  "  At 
what  time  Corvinus,  the  scourge  of  the  Turks,  rayned  as  Kinge 
of  Bohemia,  for  to  well  governe  the  free  cities  of  his  realme,  he 
sent  divers  worthy  magistrates,"  &c. :  in  the  Scene  mentioned, 
Lucio  says,  "If  the  Duke,  ■with  the  other  dukes,  come  not  to  com- 
position with  the  King  of  Hungarj-,  why  then  all  the  dukes  fall 
upon  the  King : "  to  which  the  reply  is,  "  Heaven  grant  us  its 

A  2 


10  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE. 

peace,  but  not  the  King  of  Hungary's."  Now  Corvinus,  King  of 
Hungary,  was  declared  King  of  Bohemia  in  1473,  and  reigned 
until  his  death  in  1490.  He  was  almost  continually  at  war  with 
the  Duke  of  Austria,  Frederic  IH.  (whose  court  was  at  Vienna,) 
and  with  the  Turks.  His  expeditions  were  almost  always  success- 
ful against  both ;  and  he  usually  "  conquered  a  peace  "  by  a  very 
bloody  victory,  so  that  his  enemies  might  well  pray  for  Heav- 
en's peace,  "  but  not  the  Kijig  of  Hungary's."  As  he  marched 
on  Vienna  and  took  it  in  1485,  the  apprehensions  expressed  by 
Lucio  and  his  acquaintance  enable  us  to  determine  almost  the  very 
year  of  the  supposed  action,  —  an  accuracy  unattainable  N\-ith  re- 
gard to  any  other  of  these  dramas  not  founded  upon  a  historical 
subject.  Shakespeare,  with  his  usual  tact  in  adapting  his  plays 
to  the  understanding  of  his  audience,  changed  Whetstone's  un- 
known city,  JuUo,  to  Vienna,  a  place  almost  or  quite  as  well  known 
in  England  then  as  now.  With  the  place  he  also  changed,  of 
course,  the  prince  whose  delegated  authority  is  abused ;  but  he 
scrupulously  retained  the  costume  and  all  the  traits  and  incidents 
which  marked  the  period  of  the  story  on  which  he  built  his  com- 
edy, and  added  two  or  three  allusions  not  to  be  found  in  Whet- 
stone's play  or  story,  as  if  for  the  very  purpose  of  giving  a  local 
habitation  and  a  time,  as  well  as  an  air  of  reahty,  to  this  wonder- 
ful and  admirable  creation.*     The  costume  of  the  characters  is 

*  The  reader  who  is  disposed  to  examine  closely  the  points  considered  in  this 
Introduction  will  find  them  discussed  with  much  greater  particularity  iu  Shake- 
speare's Schrilar.  Mr.  Verplanck's  excellent  Introduction  to  the  play  should 
also  receive  his  thoughtful  attention.  The  following  lines  are  the  principal 
part  of  what  passes  between  the  brother  and  sister  in  Promos  and  Cassandra, 
In  the  interview  corresponding  to  that  between  Claudia  and.  Isabella  in  Measure 
for  Measure,  Act  III.  Sc.  1.  By  comparing  them,  a  correct  idea  may  be  formed 
of  the  likeness  —  and  the  difference  between  the  two  plays. 

"  Cassandra.    If  thou  dost  live,  I  must  my  honor  lose. 
Thy  raunsome  is,  to  Promos  fleshly  wyll 
That  I  do  yielde :  than  which  I  rather  chose 
With  torments  sharpe  myselfe  he  first  should  kyll. 
Thus  am  I  bent :  thou  seest  thy  death  at  hand  : 
0  would  my  life  would  satisfie  his  yre, 
Cassandra  then  would  cancell  soone  thy  band ! 
Andrugio.    And  may  it  bo  a  judge  of  his  account 
•  Can  spot  his  minde  with  lawles  love  or  lust  ? 

But  more,  m.iy  he  doome  any  fault  with  death, 

When  in  such  faute  he  findes  himselfe  unjust? 

Syster,  that  wise  men  love  we  often  see, 

And  where  love  rules,  gainst  themes  doth  rea.son  spnrne. 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

the  Viennese  dress  of  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  some  ap- 
proach to  -nhich,  at  least,  may  be  found  in  VeceUi's  Habiti  Anfichi 
e  Moderni,  published  at  Vienna  in  1598. 

But  who  so  loves,  if  he  rejected  be, 

His  passing  love  to  peevis^h  hate  will  turne. 

Deare  sister  then  note  how  vay  fortune  stands : 

That  Promos  love,  the  like  is  oft  in  use ; 

And  sith  he  crave  this  kindnesse  at  your  hands. 

Think  this,  if  you  his  pleasure  do  refuse, 

I.  in  his  rage  (poor  wTetch)  shall  sing  Peccavi. 

Here  are  two  evyls,  the  best  harde  to  digest ; 

But  whereas  things  are  driven  unto  necessity. 

There  are  we  byd,  of  both  evyls  choose  the  least. 

Cassandra.    And  of  these  evils  the  least,  I  hold,  is  death 
To  shun  whose  dart  we  can  no  meane  devise; 
Yet  honor  lives  when  death  hath  done  his  worst : 
Thus  fame  then  lyfe  is  of  farre  more  comprise. 

Andrugif).    Nay,  Cassandra,  if  thou  thy  selfe  submit, 
To  save  my  life,  to  Promos  fleashly  wyll. 
Justice  wyll  say  thou  dost  no  crj-me  commit, 
For  in  forst  faultes  is  no  intent  of  yll. 

Cassandra.    How  so  th'  intent  is  construed  in  offence, 
The  Proverhe  sales  that  tenne  good  turnea  lye  dead. 
And  one  yll  deede  tenne  tymes  beyond  pretence 
By  envious  tongues,  report  abrode  doth  spread. 
Andrugio,  so  my  fame  shall  vallewed  bee ; 
Dispite  will  blase  my  crime,  but  not  the  cause ; 
And  thus,  although  I  fayne  would  set  thee  free, 
Poor  wench,  I  feare  the  grype  of  slaunder's  pawes. 

Andrugio.    Nay  sweete  sister,  more  slaunder  would  infame 
Your  spotles  lyfe  to  reave  your  brother's  breath. 
When  you  have  power  for  to  enlarge  the  same ; 
Once  in  your  handes  doth  lye  my  life  and  death. 
Way  that  I  am  the  selfe-same  flesh  you  are ; 
Thinke,  I  once  gone,  our  house  will  goe  to  wrack : 
Knowe,  forced  faultes  for  slaunder  neede  not  care  : 
Looke  you  for  blame,  if  I  guaile  through  your  lack. 
Consider  well  my  great  extremitie ; 
If  otherwise  this  doome  I  could  revoke, 
I  would  not  spare  for  any  jebardye 
To  free  thee,  wench,  from  this  same  heavy  yoke ; 
But  ah,  I  see  else  no  way  saves  my  life. 
And  yet  his  hope  may  further  thy  consent ; 
Ho  sayde,  he  maye  perca.«e  make  thee  his  wyfe, 
And  'tis  Ukelie  he  cannot  be  content 
With  one  night's  joye  :  if  love  he  after  seekes  ; 
And  I  di.scharg'd,  if  thou  aloofe  then  be. 
Before  he  lose  thy  selfe  that  so  he  leekes, 
No  doubt  but  he  to  marryage  wyll  agree." 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

ViNCENTio,  the  Duke. 

Angelo,  the  Deputy. 

EsCALUS,  an  ancient  Lord. 

Claudio,  a  young  Getitleman. 

Lucio,  a  Fantastic. 

Two  other  like  Gentlemen. 

Vaerius,  a  Gentleman,  Servant  to  the  Duke. 

Provost. 

Thomas,] 


Petek,    '-Two  Friars. 

A  Justice. 

Elbow,  a  sitnpk  Constable. 

Froth,  a  foolish  Gentleman. 

Clown,  Servant  to  Mrs.  Over-done. 

Abhokson,  an  Executioner. 

Barnardine,  a  dissolute  Prisoner. 

Isabella,  sister  to  Claudio. 
Mariana,  betrothed  to  Angelo. 
Juliet,  beloved  of  Claudio. 
Francisca,  a  Nun. 
Mistress  Over-done,  a  Bawd. 

T^ords,  Gentlemen,  Guards,  Officers,  ayid  other  Attendants 

SCENE:  Vienna. 

(12) 


MEASURE     FOR     MEASURE. 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

BUKE. 

ESCALUS  ! 
Escalus.     My  lord. 
Duke.     Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  t'  affect  speech  and  discourse  ; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know,  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  ;   then  no  more  remains 
But   that,    to    your    sufficiency,  —  as    your   worth   is 

able,  — 
And  let  them  work.     The  nature  of  our  people. 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  y'  are  as  pregnant  in 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember.     There  is  our  commission. 
From  which  we  would    not    have    you    warp.  —  Call 

hither, 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo.  — 

\^Exit  an  Attendant. 


14  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.         act   I. 

What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear  ? 

For  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 

Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply, 

Lent  him  our  terror,  drest  him  with  our  love, 

And  given  his  deputation  all  the  organs 

Of  our  own  power.     What  think  you  of  it? 

Escal.     If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honour. 
It  is  Lord  Angelo. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Duke.     Look,  where  he  comes. 
Angelo.     Always  obedient  to  your  Grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life. 
That,  to  th'  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold.     Thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  they  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do. 
Not  light  them  for  themselves  ;   for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As   if    we    had    them    not.      Spirits    are    not   finely 

touch' d. 
But  to  fine  issues  ;   nor  Nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence. 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she   determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor  — 
Both  thanks  and  use.     But  I  do  bend  my  speech 
To  one  that  can  my  part  in  him  advertise  : 
Hold,   therefore,  Angelo,   [our  jjlace  and  power  :] 
In  our  remove,  be  thou  at  full  ourself: 
Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 
Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart.     Old  Escalus, 


SC.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  15 

Though  first  in  question,  is  thy  secondary  : 
Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord, 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal, 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamp'd  upon  it. 

Duke.  No  more  evasion  : 

We  have  with  a  leaven' d  and  prepared  choice 
Proceeded  to  you ;    therefore  take  your  honours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition. 
That  it  prefers  itself,  and  leaves  unquestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.     We  shall  write  to  you. 
As  time  and  our  concernings  shall  importune. 
How  it  goes  with  us  ;   and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.     So,  fare  you  well  : 
To  th'  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  you 
Of  your  commissions. 

Ang.  Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.     My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Nor  need  you,  on  mine  honour,  have  to  do 
With  any  scruple :    your  scope  is  as  mine  own. 
So  to  enforce  or  qualify  the  laws 
As  to  your  soul  seems  good.     Give  me  your  hand. 
I'll  privily  away :    I  love  the  people. 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes. 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves  vehement ; 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion. 
That  does  afi'ect  it.     Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

Ang.     The  Heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes  !  — 

Escal.     Lead  forth,  and  bring  you  back  in  happi- 
ness ! 

Duke.     I  thank  you.     Fare  you  well.  \_Exit. 

Escal.     I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  give  me  leave 


16       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  i. 

To  have  free  speech  with  you ;  and  it  concerns  me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  my  place. 
A  power  I  have,  but  of  what  strength  and  nature 
I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

Ang.      'Tis  so  with  me.     Let  us  withdraw  together, 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have 
Touching  that  point. 

Escal.  I'll  wait  upon  your  honour. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene  II. 
A  Street. 

Enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lucio.  If  the  Duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come 
not  to  composition  with  the  King  of  Hungary,  why 
then,  all  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  King. 

1  Gentleman.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not 
the  King  of  Hungary's  I 

2  Gent.     Amen. 

Lucio.  Thou  conclud'st  like  the  sanctimonious  pi- 
rate, that  went  to  sea  with  the  Ten  Commandments, 
but  scrap'd  one  out  of  the  table. 

2  Gent.     "Thou  shalt  not  steal"? 

Lucio.     Ay,  that  he  raz'd. 

1  Gent.  Why,  'twas  a  commandment  to  command 
the  captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  functions : 
they  put  forth  to  steal.  There's  not  a  soldier  of  us 
all,  that,  in  the  thanksgiving  before  meat,  doth  rel- 
ish the  petition  well  that  prays  for  peace. 

2  Gent.     I  never  heard  any  soldier  dislike  it. 
Lucio.     I    believe    thee ;    for  I    think    thou    never 

wast  where  grace  was  said. 

2  Gent.     No  ?   a  dozen  times  at  least. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  17 

1  Gent.     What,  in  metre  r 

Lucio.     In  any  proportion,  or  in  any  language, 

1  Gent.     I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay ;  why  not  ?  Grace  is  grace,  despite  of 
all  controversy  :  as  for  example  ;  thou  thyself  art  a 
wicked  villain,  despite  of  all  grace. 

1  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  shears  be- 
tween us. 

Lucio.  I  grant ;  as  there  may  between  the  lists 
and  the  velvet :    thou  art  the  list. 

1  Gent.  And  thou  the  velvet :  thou  art  good  vel- 
vet :  thou  'rt  a  three-pil'd  piece,  I  warrant  thee.  I 
had  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English  kersey  as  be  pil'd, 
as  thou  art  pil'd,  for  a  French  velvet.  Do  I  speak 
feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio.  I  think  thou  dost ;  and,  indeed,  with  most 
painful  feeling  of  thy  speech  :  I  will,  out  of  thine  own 
confession,  learn  to  begin  thy  health  ;  but,  whilst  I 
live,  forget  to  drink  after  thee. 

1  Gent.  I  think  I  have  done  myself  wrong ;  have 
I  not? 

2  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast,  whether  thou  art 
tainted  or  free. 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  Madam  Mitigation 
comes  ! 

1  Gent.  I  have  purchas'd  as  many  diseases  under 
her  roof  as  come  to  — 

2  Gent.     To  what,  I  pray  ? 
Lucio.     Judge. 

2  Gent.     To  three  thousand  dolours  a-year. 
1  Gent.     Ay,  and  more. 
Lucio.     A  French  crown  more. 
1  Gent.     Thou  art  always  figuri:ig  diseases  in  me ; 
but  thou  art  full  of  error  :    I   am  ^ound. 

VOL.    III.  B 


18       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    act  i. 

Lucio.  Nay,  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy ;  but 
BO  sound  as  things  that  are  hollow  :  thy  bones  are 
hollow ;   impiety  has  made  a  feast  of  thee. 

Enter  Bawd. 

1  Gent.  How  now  ?  Which  of  your  hips  has  the 
most  profound  sciatica  ^ 

Bawd.  Well,  well  ;  there's  one  yonder  arrested 
and  carried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  of 
you  all. 

2  Ge7it.     Who's  that,  I  pr'ythee  ? 

Bawd.    Marry,  sir,  that's  Claudio  ;   Signior  Claudio. 

1  Gent.     Claudio  to  prison  !   'tis  not  so. 

Bawd.  Nay,  but  I  know,  'tis  so  :  I  saw  him  ar- 
rested ;  saw  him  carried  away ;  and,  which  is  more, 
within  these  three  days  his  head's  to  be  chopp'd 
off. 

Lucio.  But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not  have 
it  so.     Art  thou  sure  of  this  ? 

Bawd.  I  am  too  sure  of  it ;  and  it  is  for  getting 
Madam  Julietta  with  child. 

Lucio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be  :  he  promis'd  to 
meet  me  two  hours  since,  and  he  was  ever  precise  in 
promise-keeping. 

2  Gent.  Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  something 
near  to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

1  Gent.  But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  proc- 
lamation. 

Lucio.     Away ;   let's  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

\_Exeunt  Lucio  and  Gentlemen. 

Baicd.  Thus,  what  with  the  war,  what  with  the 
sweat,  what  with  the  gallows,  and  what  with  poverty, 
I  am  custom-shrunk.  How  now  ?  what's  the  news 
with  you  ? 


sc.   II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE,  19 

Enter  Clown. 

Clown.     Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Bawd.     Well,  what  has  he  done  ? 

Clo.     A  woman. 

Bawd.     But  what's  his  oflfence  ? 

Clo.     Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Bawd.  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by 
him? 

Clo.  No ;  but  there's  a  woman  with  maid  by 
him.  You  have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have 
you? 

Bawd.     What  proclamation,  man  ? 

Clo.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must 
be  pluck'd  down. 

Bawd.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the 
city  ? 

Clo.  They  shall  stand  for  seed :  they  had  gone 
down,  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 

Bawd.  But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the 
suburbs  be  pull'd  down? 

Clo.     To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Bawd.  Why,  here's  a  change,  indeed,  in  the  com- 
monwealth !     What  shall  become  of  me  ? 

Clo.  Come ;  fear  not  you :  good  counsellors  lack 
no  clients.  Though  you  change  your  place,  you  need 
not  change-  your  trade ;  I'll  be  your  tapster  still. 
Courage !  there  will  be  pity  taken  on  you ;  you  that 
have  worn  your  eyes  almost  out  in  the  service :  you 
will  be  considered. 

Bawd.  What's  to  do  here,  Thomas  Tapster?  Let's 
withdraw. 

Clo.  Here  comes  Signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  Pro- 
vost to  prison  ;   and  there's  Madam  Juliet.        [Exeunt. 


20  MEASURE   FOE,   MEASURE.         ACT  I. 

Scene  III. 

The  Same. 

Enter  Provost,  Clatjdio,  Juliet,   and  Officers  ; 
Lucid,  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Claudio.     Fellow,  wliy  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to 
th'  world? 
Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed. 
Provost.     I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition. 
But  from  Lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud.     Thus  can  the  demi-god.  Authority, 
Make  us  pay  down  for  our  offence  by  weight.  — 
The  words  of   Heaven  ;  —  on  whom  it  will,  it  will ; 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so  :    yet  still  'tis  just. 

Lucio.  Why,  how  now,  Claudio  ?  whence  comes 
this  restraint  ? 

Claud.     From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty  : 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast. 
So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint.     Our  natures  do  pursue. 
Like  rats  that  ravin  down  their  proper  bane, 
A  thirsty  evil,  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an  ar- 
rest, I  would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors.  And 
yet,  to  say  the  truth,  I  had  as  lief  have  the  foppery 
of  freedom  as  the  morality  of  imprisonment.  — What's 
thy  offence,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.     What,  but  to  speak  of,  would  offend  again. 

Liicin.     What  is  it  ?    murther  ? 

Claud.     No. 

Lucio.     Lechery? 

Claud.     Call  it  so. 

Prov.     Away,  sir:    you  must  go. 


sc.   III.       MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  21 

Claud.     One   word,  good   friend.  —  Lucio,  a  word 
with.  you.  \_Takes  him  aside. 

Lucio.     A  hundred,  if  they'll  do  you  any  good.  — 
Is  lechery  so  look'd  after  ? 

Claud.     Thus    stands    it  with  me  :  —  Upon  a   true 
contract, 
I  got  possession  of  Julietta's  bed  : 
You  know  the  lady ;   she  is  fast  my  wife, 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order  :    this  we  came  not  to. 
Only  for  preservation  of  a  dow'r 
Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends. 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love. 
Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.     But  it  chances, 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment, 
With  character  too  gross,  is   writ  on  Juliet. 

Lucio.     With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claud.  Unhappily,  even  so. 

And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  Duke,  — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse  of  newness, 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  Governor  doth  ride. 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur  ; 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place. 
Or  in  his  eminence  that  fills  it  up, 
I   stagger  in  ;  —  but  this  new  Governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enrolled  penalties. 
Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the  wall 
So  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have   gone  round 
And  none  of  them  been  worn  ;   and,  for  a  name. 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  Act 
Freshly  on  me: — 'tis  surely,  for  a  name. 

Lucio.     I  warrant  it  is  ;    and  thy  head    stands    so 
tickle  on  thy  shoulders,  that  a  milk-maid,  if  she  be 


22  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE.         act  i. 

in  love,  may  sigh  it  off.     Send  after  the  Duke,  and 
appeal  to  him. 

Claud.     I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not. to  be  found. 
I  pr'ythee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service. 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister   enter. 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  : 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state  ; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy :   bid  herself  assay  him  : 
I  have  great  hope  in  that ;    for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect, 
Such  as  moves  men :    beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art. 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse, 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Lucio.  I  pray  she  may :  as  well  for  the  encour- 
agement of  the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under 
grievous  imposition,  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life, 
which  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus  foolishly  lost 
at  a  game  of  tick-tack.     I'll  to  her  — 

Claud.     I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio, — 

Lucio.     — within  two  hours. 

Claud.  Come,   Officer ;   away !  [^Exeunt. 


Scene    IV. 
A  Monastery. 

Enter  Duke  and  Friar  Thomas. 

Duke.     No,  holy  Father  ;   throw  away  that  thought ; 
Believe  not  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  Love 
Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom.     Why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 


sc.   IV.        MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  23 

Friar.  May  your  Grace  speak  of  it? 

Duke.     My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows   than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lov'd  the  life  remov'd ; 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies, 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery  keeps. 
I  have  deliver' d  to  Lord  Angelo 
(A  man  of  stricture  and  firm  abstinence) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland  ; 
For  so  I  have  strew' d  it  in  the  common  ear. 
And  so  it  is  receiv'd.     Now,  pious  sir, 
You  will  demand  of  me,  why  I  do  this  ? 

Fri.     Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.     We    have   strict  statutes,  and    most    biting 
laws, 
(The  needful  bits  and   curbs    to   headstrong    steeds,) 
Which  for  this  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep, 
Even  like  an  o'er-grown  lion  in  a  cave. 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey.     Now,  as  fond  fathers, 
Having  bound  up  the  threat' ning  twigs  of  birch 
Only  to  stick  it  in  their  children's   sight 
For  terror,  not  to  use,  in  time  the  rod 
[Becomes]  more  mock'd  than  fear'd ;   so  our  decrees. 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead  ; 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose, 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  athwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  It  rested  in  your  Grace 

To  unloose  this  tied-up  justice    when  you  pleas' d, 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'd 
Than  in  Lord  Angelo. 

Duke.  I  do  fear,  too   dreadful : 

Sith  'twas  my  fault  to  give  the  people  scope, 
'Twould  be  my  tyranny  to  strike  and  gall  them 
For  what  I  bid  them  do  :    for  we  bid  this  be  done. 


24       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  I. 

When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass. 
And  not  the  punishment.     Therefore,  indeed,  my  Fa- 
ther, 
I  have  on  Angelo  impos'd  the  office. 
Who  may,  in  th'  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home. 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  fight. 
To  do  in  slander.      And  to  behold  his  sway, 
I  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 
Visit  both  Prince  and  people  :    therefore,   I  pr'ythee, 
Supply  me  with  the  habit,  and  instruct  me 
How  I  may  formally  in  person  bear 
Like  a  true  friar.     More  reasons  for  this  action, 
At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you  ; 
Only,  this  one  :  —  Lord  Angelo  is  precise  ; 
Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy  ;    scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone  :    hence  shall  we  see. 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCEXE    V. 

A  Nunnery. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Francisca. 

IsahcJla.     And  have  you  nuns  no  farther  privileges : 
Francisca.     Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 
Isab.     Yes,  truly :   I  speak  not  as  desiring  more. 
Hut  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sisterhood,  the  votarists  of  St.   Clare. 
Liirio.    \_Wit/iin.^    Hoa  !    Peace  be  in  this  place  I 
Isal).  Whos  that  which  calls  ? 

Fran.      It  is  a  man's  voice.      Gentle    Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him  : 
You  may  ;    I   may  not :    you  arc  yet  unsworn. 


SC.   V.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  25 

When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with  men, 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  Prioress  : 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face  ; 
Or,  if  you  show  your  face,  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again  :   I  pray  you,  answer  him. 

[_Exit  Fkancisca. 
Isab.     Peace  and  prosperity  !     Who  is't  that  calls  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio.     Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be,  —  as  those  cheek- 
roses 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less  :   Can  you  so  stead  me, 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ? 

Isab.     Why  her  unhappy  brother  ?    Let  me  ask, 
The  rather,  for  I  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister. 

Lucio.     Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets 
you. 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's   in  prison. 

Isab.     Woe  me  !   for  what  ? 

Lucio.     For  that,  which,  if   myself  might    be    his 
judge. 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in   thanks. 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Isab.     Sir,  make  me  not  your  story. 

Lucio.     'Tis  true.     I  would  not  (though  'tis  my  fa- 
miliar sin 
With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest, 
Tongue  far  from  heart)  play  with  all  virgins  so : 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  enski'd,  and  sainted 
By  your  renouncement,  —  an  immortal  spirit, 
And  to  be  talked  with  in  sincerity, 
As  with  a  saint. 

b2 


26       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  I. 

Isah.     You  do  blaspheme  the  good  in  mocking  me. 

Lucio.     Do  not  believe  it.     Fewness  and  truth,  'tis 
thus  : 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embraced  : 
As  those  that  feed  grow  full,  as  blossoming  time. 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
To  teeming  foison,  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth  and  husbandry. 

Isab.      Some  one  with  child  by  him  ?  —  My  cousin 
Juliet  ? 

Lucio.     Is  she  your  cousin  ? 

Isab.     Adoptedly  :     as    school-maids    change    their 
names 
By  vain  though  apt  affection. 

Lucio.  She  it  is. 

Isab.     O  !   let  him  marry  her. 

Lucio.  This  is  the  point. 

The  Duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence  ; 
—  Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one. 
In  hand,  and  hope  of  action ;    but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state, 
His  givings-out  were  of  an  infinite   distance 
From  his  true-meant  design.     Upon  his  place, 
And  with  full  line  of  his  authority. 
Governs  Lord  Angelo ;   a  man  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth ;   one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense. 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge 
With  profits  of  the  mind,  study,  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty. 
Which  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous   law. 
As  mice  by  lions)  hath  pick'd  out  an  Act, 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 
Falls  into  forfeit  :    he  arrests  him  on  it. 
And  follows  close  the  rigour  of  the  statute, 


sc.   T.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  27 

To  make  him  an  example.     All  liope  is  gone, 
Unless  you  have  the  grace  by  your  fair  prayer 
To  soften  Angelo  ;    and  that's  my  pith 
Of  business  'twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

Isab.     Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 

Lucio.  Has  censur'd  him 

Already ;    and,  as  I  hear,  the  Provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  execution. 

Isab.     Alas  !   what  poor  ability's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ? 

Lucio.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Isab.     My  power  !     Alas  !   I  doubt,  — 

Lucio.  Our   doubts  are  traitors. 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win, 
By  fearing  to  attempt.     Go  to  Lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue. 
Men  give  like  gods ;   but  when  they  weep  and  kneel, 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  them. 

Isab.     I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 

Lucio.  But  speedily. 

Isab.     I  will  about  it  straight. 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  Mother 
Notice  of  my  affair.     I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother  :    soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Lucio.     I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Isab.  Good  sir,  adieu. 

[^Exeunt. 


28       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  ii. 

ACT    II. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Hall  in  Angelo's  House. 

Enter  Angelo,  Escalus,  a  Justice,  Officers,  and 
other  Attendants. 

Angelo. 

WE  must  not  make  a  scare-crow  of  the  law, 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey. 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 

Escal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little. 
Than    fall    and   bruise  to    death.     Alas  !    this   gentle- 
man 
Whom  I  would  save  had  a  most  noble  father. 
Let  but  your  honour  know, 
(Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  virtue,) 
That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections. 
Had  time  coher'd  with  place    or  place  with  wishing. 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attain" d  th'  effect  of  your  own  purpose. 
Whether  you  had  not,  sometime  in  your  life, 
Err'd  in  this  point  where  now  you  censure  him, 
And  pidl'd  the  law  upon  you. 

Ang.     'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.      I  not  deny. 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life, 
May  in  the  sworn  twelve  have  a  thief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try  ;    what's  open  made 
To  justice,  that  justice  seizes:    what  knows  the  law. 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves  ?     'Tis  very  pregnant. 


SC.   I.  MEASURE    FOR  MEASURE.  29 

The  jewel  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  take't, 

Because  we  see  it ;   but  what  we  do  not  see, 

We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 

You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  ofience 

For  I  have  had  such  faults  ;   but  rather  tell  me, 

When  I  that  censure  him  do  so  ofi"end, 

Let  mine  own  judgment  pattern  out  my  death. 

And  nothing  come  in  partial.     Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal.     Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 

Ang.  Where  is  the  Provost : 

Enter  Provost. 

Prov.     Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 

Ang.  See  that  Claudio 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning. 
Bring  him  his  confessor,  let  him  be  prepar'd. 
For  that's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage. 

\_Exit  Provost. 

Escal.     Well,  Heaven  forgive  him,  and  forgive  us 
all! 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall : 
Some  run  from  brakes  of  vice  and  answer  none  ; 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

Enter  Elbow,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  ^c. 

Elbow.  Come,  bring  them  away.  If  these  be  good 
people  in  a  common-weal,  that  do  nothing  but  use 
their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law : 
bring  them  away. 

Ang.  How  now,  sir !  What's  your  name,  and 
what's  the  matter  ? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor 
Duke's  constable,  and  my  name  is  Elbow  :  I  do  lean 
upon  justice,  sir  ;  and  do  bring  in  here  before  your 
good  honour  two  notorious  benefactors. 


30       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  il. 

Ang.  Benefactors  !  Well  ;  what  benefactors  are 
they  ?    are  they  not  malefactors  ? 

Elh.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well 
what  they  are  ;  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  I 
am  sure  of,  and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the  world, 
that  good  Christians  ought  to  have. 

Escal.  This  comes  off  well  :  here's  a  wise  of- 
ficer. 

Ang.  Go  to  :  what  quality  are  they  of?  Elbow 
is  your  name  :    why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  ? 

C7o.     He  cannot,  sir  :    he's  out  at  elbow. 

A7ig.     What  are  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  He,  sir?  a  tapster,  sir  —  parcel-bawd;  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman,  whose  house,  sir,  was,  as 
they  say,  pluck' d  down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  now  she 
professes  a  hot-house,  which,  I  think,  is  a  very  ill 
house  too. 

Escal.     How  know  you  that  ? 

Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  Heaven 
and  your  honour,  — 

Escal.     How  !    thy  wife  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir ;  whom,  I  thank  Heaven,  is  an  hon- 
est woman,  — 

Escal.     Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elb.  I  say,  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well 
as  she,  that  this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house 
it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escal.     How  dost  thou  know  that,  Constable  ? 

Elh.  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife  ;  Avho,  if  she  had  been 
a  woman  cardinally  given,  might  have  been  accus'd  in 
fornication,  adultery,  and  all  uncleanliness  there. 

Escal.     By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir,  by  Mistress  Ovcr-done's  means  ;  but 
as  she  spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defi'd  him. 

Clo.      Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  is  not  so. 


sc.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  31 

Elb.  Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou  hon- 
ourable man  ;    prove  it. 

Escal.  \_To  Angelc]  Do  you  hear  how  he  mis- 
places ? 

Clo.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  child,  and  long- 
ing (saving  your  honour's  reverence)  for  stew'd 
prunes  :  sir,  we  had  but  two  in  the  house,  which 
at  that  very  distant  time  stood,  as  it  were,  in  a  fruit- 
dish,  —  a  dish  of  some  three  pence  :  your  honours 
have  seen  such  dishes  ;  they  are  not  China  dishes, 
but  very  good  dishes. 

Escal.     Go  to,  go  to :   no  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin  ;  you  are  there- 
in in  the  right ;  but  to  the  point.  As  I  say,  this 
Mistress  Elbow,  being,  as  I  say,  with  child,  and  being 
great  belly'd,  and  longing,  as  I  said,  for  prunes,  and 
having  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  I  said.  Master  Froth 
here,  this  very  man,  having  eaten  the  rest,  as  I  said, 
and,  as  I  say,  paying  for  them  very  honestly ;  —  for, 
as  you  know,  Master  Froth,  I  could  not  give  you 
three  pence  again. 

Froth.     No,  indeed. 

Clo.  Very  well  :  you  being  then,  if  you  be  re- 
member'd,  cracking  the  stones  of  the  'foresaid  prunes. 

Froth.     Ay,  so  I  did,  indeed. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well :  I  telling  you  then,  if  you 
be  remember' d,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one, 
were  past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless  they 
kept  very  good  diet,  as  I  told  you. 

Froth.     All  this  is  true. 

Clo.     Why,  very  well  then. 

Escal.  Come  ;  you  are  a  tedious  fool :  to  the  pur- 
pose.—  What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  he  hath 
cause  to  complain  of?  Come  we  to  what  was  done 
to  her. 


32       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  ll. 

Clo.     Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escal.     No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not. 

Clo.  Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your  hon- 
our's leave.  And,  I  beseech  you,  look  into  Master 
Froth  here,  sir ;  a  man  of  fourscore  pound  a  year, 
whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas.  —  Was't  not  at  Hal- 
lowmas, Master  Froth  ? 

Froth.     All-hallownd  eve. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well :  I  hope  here  be  truths.  He, 
sir,  sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,  sir  ;  —  'twas 
in  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  where,  indeed,  you  have  a 
delight  to  sit,  have  you  not  ? 

Froth.  I  have  so  ;  because  it  is  an  open  room, 
and  good  for  winter. 

Clo.     Why,  very  well  then  :  I  hope  here  be  truths. 

Ang.     This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there.     I'll  take  my  leave, 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause, 
Hoping  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 

Escal.     I   think  no   less.      Good  morrow   to   your 
lordship.  \_Exit  Angelo. 

Now,  sir,  come  on:  what  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife, 
once  more  ? 

Clo.  Once,  sir  ?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her 
once. 

Elh.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this  man 
did  to  my  wife. 

Clo.     I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me. 

Escal.     Well,  sir,  what  did  this  gentleman  to  her  ? 

Clo.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentleman's 
face.  —  Good  Master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour ; 
'tis  for  a  good  purpose.  Doth  your  honour  mark 
his  face  ? 

Escal.     Ay,  sir,  very  well. 

Clo.     Nay,  I  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 


sc.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  33 

Escal.     Well,  I  do  so. 

Clo.     Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face? 

Escal.     Why,  no. 

Clo.  I'll  be  supposed  upon  a  book,  his  face  is  the 
worst  thing  about  him.  Good  then  ;  if  his  face  be 
the  worst  thing  about  him,  how  could  Master  Froth 
do  the  constable's  wife  any  harm  ?  I  would  know 
that  of  your  honour. 

Escal.  He's  in  the  right,  Constable  ;  what  say  you 
to  it? 

Elh.  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respect- 
ed house  ;  next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow,  and  his 
mistress  is  a  respected  woman. 

Clo.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  re- 
spected person  than  any  of  us  all. 

Elh.  Varlet,  thou  liest :  thou  liest,  wicked  varlet. 
The  time  is  yet  to  come  that  she  was  ever  respect- 
ed with  man,  woman,  or  child. 

Clo.  Sir,  she  was  respected  with  him,  before  he 
married  with  her. 

Escal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here  ?  Justice,  or  In- 
iquity ?  —  Is  this  true  ? 

Elb.  O  thou  caitiff !  O  thou  varlet !  O  thou 
wicked  Hannibal  !  I  respected  with  her,  before  I 
was  married  to  her  !  —  If  ever  I  was  respected  with 
her,  or  she  with  me,  let  not  your  worship  think  me 
the  poor  Duke's  officer.  —  Prove  this,  thou  wicked 
Hannibal,  or  I'll  have  mine  action  of  battery  on  thee. 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  th'  ear,  you  might 
have  your  action  of  slander  too. 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  good  worship  for  it. 
What  is't  your  worship's  pleasure  I  shall  do  with 
this  wicked  caitiff? 

Escal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  of- 
fences   in    him  that    thou   would' st    discover    if   thou 

VOL.   III.  c 


34       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  il. 

could' st,  let    him    continue    in   his  courses,  till    thou 
know'st  what  they  are. 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it. — Thou 
seest,  thou  wicked  varlet  now,  whafs  come  upon 
thee  :  thou  art  to  continue  ;  now,  thou  varlet,  thou 
art  to  continue. 

Escal.     Where  were  you  born,  friend  ? 

Froth.     Here  in  Vienna,   sir. 

Escal.     Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  year  ? 

Froth.     Yes,  an't  please  you,  sir. 

Escal.     So.  —  What  trade  are  you  of,  sir? 

Clo.     A  tapster ;    a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

Escal.     Your  mistress'  name  ? 

Clo.     Mistress  Over-done. 

Escal.  Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  hus- 
band ? 

Clo.     Nine,  sir ;    Over-done  by  the  last. 

Escal.  Nine  !  —  Come  hither  to  me.  Master  Froth. 
Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainted  with 
tapsters  ;  they  will  draw  you.  Master  Froth,  and  you 
will  hang  them :  get  you  gone,  and  let  me  hear  no 
more  of  you. 

Froth.  I  thank  your  worship.  For  mine  own  part, 
I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  I  am 
drawn  in. 

Escal.  Well  ;  no  more  of  it.  Master  Froth :  fare- 
well. \^Exit  Froth.]  —  Come  you  hither  to  me,  Mr. 
Tapster.     What's  your  name,  Mr.  Tapster  ? 

Cln.      Pompey. 

Escal.     What  else  ? 

Clo.      Bum,   sir. 

Escal.  'Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing 
about  you ;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  you  are 
Pompoy  the  Great.  Pompey,  yo\i  are  partly  a  bawd, 
Pompey,  howsoever  you  colour  it  in  being  a  tapster. 


SC.    I.  MEASURE    FOll   MEASURE.  35 

Are  you  not  r  come,  tell  me  true  :  it  shall  be  the 
better  for  you. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow  that  would 
live. 

Escal.  How  would  you  live,  Pompey  ?  by  being 
a  bawd  ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  trade,  Pom- 
pey ?    is  it  a  lawful  trade  ? 

Clo.     If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 

Escal.  But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey ; 
nor  it  shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Clo.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  spay 
all  the  youth  of  the  city  ? 

Escal.     No,  Pompey. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  in  my  poor  opinion,  they  will  to't 
then.  If  your  worship  will  take  order  for  the  drabs 
and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to  fear  the  bawds. 

Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I  can 
tell  vou  :    it  is  but  heading  and  hanging:. 

Clo.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that 
way  but  for  ten  year  together,  you'll  be  glad  to  give 
out  a  commission  for  more  heads.  If  this  law  hold 
in  Vienna  ten  year,  I'll  rent  the  fairest  house  in  it 
after  three  pence  a  day  !  If  you  live  to  see  this  come 
to  pass,   say  Pompey  told  you  so. 

Escal.  Thank  you,  good  Pompey ;  and,  in  re- 
quital of  your  prophecy,  hark  you  :  —  I  advise  you, 
let  me  not  -find  you  before  me  again  upon  any  com- 
plaint whatsoever ;  no,  not  for  dwelling  where  you 
do  :  if  I  do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you  to  your  tent, 
and  prove  a  shrewd  Caesar  to  you.  In  plain  dealing, 
Pompey,  I  shall  have  you  whipp'd.  So,  for  this 
time,   Pompey,  fare  you  well. 

Clo.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good  coun- 
sel, but  I  shall  follow  it,  as  the  flesh  and  fortune 
shall  better  determine. 


36       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  II. 

Whip  me  ?     No,  no  ;  let  carman  whip  his  jade  ; 

The  valiant  heart's  not  whipp'd  out  of  his  trade. 

'[Exit. 

Escal.  Come  hither  to  me,  Master  Elbow ;  come 
hither.  Master  Constable.  How  long  have  yon  been 
in   this  place  of  constable  ? 

Elb.     Seven  year  and  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  I  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the  office, 
you  had  continued  in  it  some  time.  You  say,  seven 
years  together  ? 

Elb.     And  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  Alas  !  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you. 
They  do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon't.  Are 
there  not  men  in  your  ward  sufficient  to  serve  it  ? 

Elh.  'Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters. 
As  they  are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  me  for 
them :  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  and  go 
through  with  all. 

Escal.  Look  you  bring  me  in  the  names  of  some 
six  or  seven,  the  most  sufficient  of  your  parish. 

Elh.     To  your  worship's  house,  sir  ? 

Escal.     To  my  house.     Fare  you  well. 

\_Exit  Elbow. 
What's  o'clock,  think  you  ? 

Justice.     Eleven,  sir. 

Escal.     I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Just.      I  humbly  thank  you. 

Escal.     It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio  ; 
But  there's  no  remedy. 

Just.     Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so  ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe. 
But  yet,  poor  Claudio  !  —  There  is  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  37 

Scene  II. 
Another  Room  in  the  Same. 

Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Servant.     He's  hearing  of  a  cause  :    he  will  come 
straight. 
I'll  tell  him  of  you. 

Prov.     'Pray  you,  do.      \_Exit  Servant.]     I'll  know 
His  pleasure  ;    may  be,  he  will  relent.     Alas  ! 
He  hath  offended  but  as  in  a  dream  : 
All  sects,  all  ages  smack  of  this  vice,  and  he 
To   die  for  it  !  — 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  Now,  what's  the  matter,   Provost.'' 

Prov.     Is   it   your  will    Claudio   shall   die   to-mor 
row  ? 

Aug.     Did  I  not   tell   thee,    yea  ?    hadst   thou    not 
order  ? 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 

Prov.  Lest  I  might  be  too  rash. 

Under  your  good  correction,  I  have  seen 
When,  after  execution,  judgment  hath 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

Ang.  Go  to  ;   let  that  be  mine  : 

Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  place  ; 
And  you  shall  well  be  spar'd. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. 

What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  Juliet  ? 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  her 

To  some  more  fitter  place,  and  that  with  speed. 


or:';/ 


38       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  II. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.     Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Aug.  Hath  he  a  sister  } 

Prov.     Ay,  my  good  lord;    a  very  virtuous  maid, 
And  to  be  shortly  of   a  sisterhood, 
If  not  already. 

Ang.  Well,  let  her  be  admitted. 

\^Exit  Servant. 
See  you  the  fornicatress  be  remov'd  : 
Let  her  have  needful  but  not  lavish  means  ; 
There  shall  be  order  for't. 

Enter  Lucio  and  Isabella. 

Prov.     'Save  your  honour  !        [^Offering  to  retire. 

Ang.     Stay   a  little   while.  —  [_To   Isab.]      Y'  are 
welcome  :    what's  your  will  ? 

Isab.     I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour, 
'Please  but  your  honour  hear  me. 

Ang.  Well,  what's  your  suit  ? 

Isab.     There  is  a  vice  that  most  I  do  abhor. 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice. 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must ; 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war  'twixt  will  and  will  not. 

Ang.  Well  ;   the  matter  ? 

Isab.     I  have  a  brother  is  condemn'd  to  die  : 
I   do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault, 
And  not  my  brother. 

Prov.      \^Aside.~^     Heaven  give  thee  moving  graces  ! 

Ang.     Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it  ? 
Why,  every  fault's  condemn'd  ere  it  be  done. 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of   a  function, 
To  fine  the  faults  whose  fine  stands  in  record. 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  39 

Isah.  O  just,  but  severe  law  ! 

I  had  a  brother  then.  —  Heaven  keep  your  honour ! 

[^Retiring. 

Lucio.      [^To    IsAB.]     Give't   not   o'er   so  :    to   him 
again,  intreat  him  ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown  ; 
You  are  too  cold  :    if  you  should  need  a  pin, 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it. 
To  him,  I  say. 

Isab.     Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Aug.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isab.     Yes  ;   I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him, 
And  neither   Heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the  mercy. 

Ang.     I  will  not  do't. 

Isab.  But  can  you,  if  you  would  ? 

Ang.      Look  ;   what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 

Isab.     But   might   you   do't,  and  do  the  world  no 
wrong, 
If  so  your  heart  were  touch' d  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him  ? 

Ang.     He's  sentenc'd  :    'tis  too  late. 

Lucio.  [To  Isab.]     You  are  too  cold. 

Isab.    Too  late  ?  why,  no  ;   I,  that  do  speak  a  word, 
May  call  it  [back]  again  :   Well,  believe  this  ; 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword. 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace 
As  mercy  does. 

If  he  had  been  as  you,  and  you  as  he. 
You  would  have  slipp'd  like  him  ;    but  he  like  you 
Would  not  have  been  so  stern. 

Ang.  .  Pray  you,  begone. 

Isab.     I  would  to  Heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
A.nd  you  were  Isabel !    should  it  then  be  thus  ? 


40       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  II. 

No;    I  -would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio.     \_Aside.^    Ay,  touch  him  ;   there's  the  vein. 

Ang.     Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law, 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

Isab.  Alas  !    alas  ! 

Why,  all  the  souls  that  were  were  forfeit  once  ; 
And  he  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took 
Found  out  the  remedy.      How  would  you  be. 
If  he,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment  shoilld 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  r      O,  think  on  that. 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made  ! 

Ang.  Be  you  content,   fair  maid. 

It  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother  : 
Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son, 
It  should  be  thus  with  him :  he  must  die  to-morrow. 

Isab.     To-morrow  ?     O,  that's  sudden  !     Spare  him, 
spare  him  ! 
He's  not  prepar'd  for  death.      Even  for  our  kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  :   shall  we  serve  Heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves  ?     Good,  good  my  lord,  bethink 

you: 
Who  is  it  that  hath  di'd  for  this  offence  ? 
There's  many  have  committed  it. 

Lucio.  \_Aside.']     Ay,  well  said. 

A7ig.     The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it  hath 
slept : 
Those  many  had  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil. 
If  [but]  the  first  that  did  th'   edict  infringe, 
Had  answer'd  for  his  deed  :    now,  'tis  awake  ; 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done,  and,  like  a  prophet. 
Looks  in  a  glass,  that  shows  what  future  evils 
(Either  now.  or  by  remissness  ncw-concciv'd, 


SC.    II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  41 

And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born,) 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees, 
But  ere  they  live  to  end. 

Isah.  Yet  show  some  pity. 

Ang.     I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice ; 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Which  a  dismissed  oifence  would  after  gall. 
And  do  him  right,  that,  answering  one  foul  wrong, 
Lives  not  to  act  another.     Be  satisfied  : 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow  :    be  content. 

Isab.      So    you   must  be    the    first    that    gives    this 
sentence. 
And  he  that  sufi"ers.     0  !  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength ;    but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

Lucio.  [^si'de.]     That's  well  said. 

Isab.     Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet ; 
For  every  pelting,  petty  officer 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder ; 
Nothing  but  thunder.     Merciful  Heaven  ! 
Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oak, 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  ;    but  man,  proud  man, 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assur'd,  — 
His  glassy,  essence,  —  like  an  angry  ape. 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  Heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep  ;    who,  with  our  spleens. 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio.     \^To  Isab.]     O,   to    him,   to   him,  wench  ! 
He  will  relent : 
He's  coming  ;  I  perceive' t. 

Prov.  \_Aside.^     'Pray  Heaven,  she  win  him  ! 

Isab.     We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself: 
c2 


42       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  ll. 

Great  men  may  jest  with  saints  :    'tis  wit  in  them, 
But  in  the  less,  foul  profanation. 

Lucio.      \^To  IsAB.]      Thou'rt    i'    the    right,    girl  : 
more  o'  that. 

Isah.     That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word. 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

Lucio.     \_Aside.^     Art  avis'd  o'  that  ?  more  on't. 

Afig.     Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me  ? 

Isab.      Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others. 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself. 
That  skins  the  vice  o'  th'  top.      Go  to  your  bosom : 
Knock  there,  and  ask  your  heart,  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault  :    if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his. 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brother's  life. 

Ang.  [_Aside.^     She  speaks,  and   tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it.     \^To  her.^ 
Fare  you  well. 

Isah.     Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Ang.     I  will  bethink  me.  —  Come  again  to-morrow. 

Isab.     Hark,  how  I'll  bribe  you.      Good   my  lord, 
turn  back. 

Aug.     How  !    bribe  me  ? 

Isab.     Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  Heaven  shall  share 
with  you. 

Lucio.     [J-Strfc]     You  had  marr'd  all  else. 

Isab.     Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold. 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor 
As  fancy  values  them  ;    but  with  true  prayers. 
That  shall  be  up  at  Heaven,  and  enter  there 
Ere  sun-rise  :    prayers  from  preserved  souls, 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Ang.  Well  ;   come  to  me  to-morrow. 


sc.   II.       MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  43 

Lucio.     \_To  IsAB.]     Go  to;   'tis  well:    away! 

Isab.     Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe  ! 

Ang.  [^Aside.^     Amen : 

For  I  am  that  way  going  to  temptation, 
Where  prayers  cross. 

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-morrow 

Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ? 

Ang.  At  any  time  'fore  noon. 

Isab.     Save  your  honour  ! 

\_Exeunt  Lucio,  Isabella,  and  Provost. 

Ang.  From  thee  :    even  from  thy  virtue  !  — 

What's  this?    what's  this  ?     Is  this  her  fault,  or  mine  ? 
The  tempter,  or  the  tempted,  who   sins  most  ?     Ha ! 
Not  she,  nor  doth  she  tempt ;   but  it  is   I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet  in  the  sun, 
Do,  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.      Can  it  be, 
That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than    woman's    lightness  ?      Having    waste     ground 

enough. 
Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary. 
And  pitch  our  evils   there  ?      O,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! 
What  dost  thou,  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo  ? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good  ?      0,  let  her  brother  live  ! 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority. 
When  judges  steal  themselves.     What  !  do  I  love  her. 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again. 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  ?     What  is't  I  dream  on  ? 
O  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint, 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !     Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue.     Never  could  the  strumpet. 
With  all  her  double  vigour,  art  and  nature. 
Once  stir  my  temper ;    but  this  virtuous  maid 


44       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  II. 

Subdues  me  quite.  —  Ever,  till  now. 
When    men  were  fond,   I  smil'd  and  wonder' d    how. 

[Exit. 

Scene  III. 
A  Room  in  a  Prison. 

Enter   Duke,  habited    like  a   Friar,  and  Provost. 

Duke.     Hail  to  you,  Provost ;   so  I  think  you  are. 
Prov.     I  am  the  Provost.     What's  your  will,  good 

friar  ? 
Duke.     Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bless'd  order, 
I  come  to  visit  the  afflicted   spirits 
Here  in  the  prison  :    do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them,  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 

Prov.     I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were 
needful. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Look ;   here  comes  one  :    a  gentlewoman  of  mine, 
Who,  falling  in  the  flames  of  her  own  youth. 
Hath  blister'd  her  report.      She  is  with  child. 
And  he  that  got  it,  sentenc'd  —  a  young  man 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  ofi"ence 
Than  die  for  this. 

Duke.     When  must  he  die  ? 

Prov.  As  I  do  think,   to-morrow.  — 

[To  Juliet.]     I  have  provided  for  you  :  stay  a  while, 
And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.     Repent  you,  fair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry  ? 

Juliet.     I  do,  and  bear  the  shame   most   patiently. 

Duke.      I'll  teach  you  how  you  shall  arraign  your 
conscience, 


sc.   IV.       MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE.  45 

And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound, 
Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Juliet.  I'll  gladly  learn. 

Duke.     Love  you  the  man  that  wrong'd  you  ? 

Juliet.    Yes,  as  I  love  the  woman  that  wrong'd  him. 

Duke.     So  then,  it  seems,  your  most  ofFenceful  act 
Was  mutually  committed  ? 

Juliet.  Mutually. 

Duke.     Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kind  than  his. 

Juliet.    I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,   Father. 

Duke.     'Tis    meet    so,  daughter  :    but  lest  you   do 
repent, 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame ; 
Which  sorrow  is  always  toward  ourselves,  not  Heaven, 
Showing  we  would  not  spare  Heaven  as  Ave  love  it. 
But  as  we  stand  in  fear,  — 

Juliet.     I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil. 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duke.  There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow, 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. 
Grace  go  with  you  !     Benedicite  !  \_Exit. 

Juliet.     Must  die  to-morrow  !     O,  injurious  law, 
That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror  ! 

Prov.  'Tis  pity  of  him.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  IV. 
A  Room  in  Angelo's  House. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.     When  I  Avould  pray  and  think,  I  think  and 
pray 


46       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  ii. 

To  several  subjects  :    Heaven  hath  my  empty  words. 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel  :    Heaven  in  my  mouth, 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name. 
And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception.     The  State,  whereon  I   studied, 
Is,  like  a  good  thing  being  often  read, 
Grown  sear'd  and  tedious ;    yea,  my  gravity. 
Wherein  (let  no  man  hear  me)   I  take   pride. 
Could  I,  with  boot,  change  for  an  idle  plume 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain.      O  place  !    O  form  ! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  habit. 
Wrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming !     Blood,  thou  art   blood  : 
Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn, 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest. 

Enter  Servant. 

How  now  !    who's  there  ? 

Serv.  One  Isabel,  a  Sister, 

Desires  access  to  you. 

Ang.  Teach  her  the  way.     \_Exit  Serv. 

O  Heavens  ! 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart, 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself. 
And  dispossessing  all  my  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons ; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the   air 
By  which  he  should  revive  :    and  even  so 
The  general,   subject  to  a  well-wish'd  King, 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,   where  their  untaught  love 
Must  needs  appear   offence. 


I 
sc.    IT.        MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  47 

Enter  Isabella. 

How  now,  fair  maid  ? 

Isah.  I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Aug.     That  you  might  know  it,  would  much  better 
please  me 
Than  to  demand  what  'tis.     Your  brother  cannot  live. 

Isab,      Even  so. — Heaven  keep  your  honour! 

[^Retiring. 

Aug.     Yet  may  he  live  a  while  ;    and,  it  may  be, 
As  long  as  you,  or  I  :    yet  he  must  die. 

Isah.     Under  your  sentence  ? 

Ang.     Yea. 

Isab.     When,  I  beseech  you  ?   that  in  his  reprieve, 
Longer  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted. 
That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Ang.     Ha !    Fie,    these    filthy  vices  !      It  were    as 
good 
To  pardon  him  that  hath  from  Nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to   remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness   that  do  coin  Heaven's    image 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid.     'Tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made, 
As  to  put  metal  in  restrained  means, 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isab.     'Tis  set  down  so  in  Heaven,  but  not  in  Earth. 

Ang.     Say  you  so  ?   then  I  shall  pose  you  quickly. 
Which  had  you  rather,  that  the  most  just  law 
Now  took  your  brother's  life,  or,  to  redeem  him, 
Give  up  your  body  to  such  sweet  uncleanness 
As  she  that  he  hath  stain' d  ? 

Isab.  Sir,  believe  this  : 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 

Ang.     I  talk  not  of  your  soul.     Our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  for  accompt. 


48       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  ii. 

Isab.  How  say  you  ? 

Ang.     Nay,  I'll  not  warrant  that  ;    for  I  can  speak 
Against  tlie  thing  I  say.     Answer  to  this  :  — 
I  (now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law) 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brother's   life  : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin, 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 

Isah.  Please  you  to  do't, 

ril  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul : 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

Ang.      Pleas'd  you  to   do't  at  peril    of   your    soul. 
Were  equal  poise  of  sin  and  charity. 

Isal.     That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it  !    you  granting  of  my  suit. 
If  that  be  sin,   I'll  make  it  my  morn-prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine. 
And  nothing  of  your  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine :   either  you  are  ignorant. 
Or  seem  so,  crafty  ;    and  that  is  not  good. 

Isah.     Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

Ang.      Thus  wisdom  wishes  to  appear  most  bright 
When  it  doth  tax  itself:    as  these  black  masks 
Proclaim  an  enshield  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could,  displayed.  —  But  mark  me : 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross. 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 

Isah.     So. 

Ang.     And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain. 

Isah.     True. 

Ang.     Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other.) 
But — in  the  loss  of  question  —  that  you,  his  sister 


sc.   IV.        MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  49 

Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all-holding  law,  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 
To  this  suppos'd,  or  else  to  let  him  suffer. 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isah.     As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself: 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of   death, 
Th'  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies. 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  I've  been  sick  for,  ere  I'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 

Ang.  Then  must 

Your  brother  die. 

Isah.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way. 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  di'd  at  once. 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him. 
Should  die  for  ever. 

Ang.     Were  not  you,  then,  as  cruel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  slander' d  so  ? 

Isah.     Ignomy  in  ransom  and  free  pardon 
Are  of  two  houses  :    lawful  mercy  is 
Nothing  akin  to  foul  redemption. 

Ang.     You  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  tyrant ; 
And  rather  prov'd  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment,  than  a  vice. 

Isah.     O,  pardon  me,  my  lord  !    it  oft  falls  out. 
To   have  what   we   would    have,  we   speak   not   what 

we  mean. 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate. 
For  his  advantage  that  I  dearly  love. 

Ang.     We  are  all  frail. 

Isah.  Else  let  my  brother  die, 

VOL.    III.  D 


50       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  II. 

If  not  a  fcodary  but  only  he 
Owe  and  succeed  thy  weakness. 

Aug.  Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 

Isab.     Ay,  as   the   glasses  where   they  view  them- 
selves, 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  !  —  Help  Heaven  !    men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.     Nay,  call  us  ten  times  frail ; 
For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 
And  credulous  to  false  prints. 

Ang.  I  think  it  well  ; 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, 
(Since,  I  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger, 
Than  faults  may  shake  our  frames,)  let  me  be  bold : 
I  do  arrest  your  words.     Be  that  you  are, 
That  is,  a  woman ;    if  you  be  more,  you're  none  ; 
If  you  be  one,  (as  you  are  well  express'd 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now, 
By  putting  on  the  destin'd  livery. 

Isab.     I  have  no  tongue  but  one :   gentle  my  lord, 
Let  me  entreat  you  speak  the  former  language. 

Ang.     Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 

Isab.     My  brother  did  love  Juliet :   and  you  tell  me, 
That  he  shall  die  for't. 

Ang.     He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  you  give  me  love. 

Isab.     I  know,  your  virtue  hath  a  license  in't, 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is, 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Ang.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honour, 

My  words  express  my  purpose. 

Isab.     Ha  !   little  honour  to  be  much  believ'd. 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  !  —  Seeming,  seeming  ! — 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo  ;    look  for't : 
Sign  mc  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother, 
Or,  with  an  outstretch'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world  aloud 
What  man   thou  art. 


SC.   IV.        MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  51 

Ang.  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel  ? 

My  unsoil'd  name,  th'  aiistereness  of  my  life, 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'  the  State, 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh. 
That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report, 
And  smell  of  calumny.      I  have  begun. 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein  : 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite  : 
Lay  by  all  nicety  and  prolixious  blushes 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for  ;    redeem  thy  brother 
By  yielding  up  thy  body  to  my  will, 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death, 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufferance.     Answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  the  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
I'll  prove  a  tyrant  to  him.     As  for  you,  — 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs  your  true. 

[Exit 

Isab.    To  whom  should  I  complain  ?    Did  I  tell  this 
Who  would  believe  me  ?     O  perilous  mouths  ! 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue, 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof. 
Bidding  the  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will, 
Hooking  both  right  and  wrong  to  th'  appetite. 
To  follow  as  it  draws.      I'll  to  my  brother  : 
Though  he  hath  fallen  by  prompture  of  the  blood. 
Yet  hath  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour. 
That  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down 
On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he'd  yield  them  up. 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  such  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then,  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die  : 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 
I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Angelo's  request. 
And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest. 

lExit. 


62       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  III« 

ACT    III. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  as  a  Friar,  Claudio,  and  Provost. 

Duke. 

SO  then,  you  hope  of  pardon  from  Lord  Angelo  ? 
Claud.     The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine, 
But  only  hope. 
I've  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 

Duke.     Be  absolute  for  death  ;   either  death  or  life 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.    Reason  thus  with  life  :  — 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep  :   a  breath  thou  art, 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences 
That  dost  this  habitation  where  thou  keep'st 
Hourly  afflict.     Merely,  thou  art  Death's  Fool ; 
For  him  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun, 
And  yet  run'st  toward  him  still  :   thou  art  not  noble ; 
For  all  th'  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st. 
Are  nurs'd  by  baseness  :   thou  art  by  no  means  valiant ; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm  :    thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
And  that  thou  oft  provok'st ;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more  :   thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist' st  on  many  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust :   happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  striv'st  to  get, 
And  what  thou  hast,  forget'st  :   thou  art  not  certain ; 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  eff"ccts. 
After  the  moon  :    if  thou  art  rich,  thou'rt  poor  ; 
For,  like  an  ass  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 


sc.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  53 

Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey, 

And  Death  unloads  thee  :   friend  hast  thou  none  ; 

For  thine  own  bowels  which  do  call  thee  sire, 

The  mere  effusion  of  thy  proper  loins. 

Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,  and  the  rheum. 

For  ending   thee    no    sooner  :    thou    hast    nor    youth 

nor  age. 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after- dinner's  sleep. 
Dreaming  on  both  ;  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsi'd  eld ;   and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.     What's  yet  in  this. 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  ?     Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  more  thousand  deaths  ;    yet  death  we  fear, 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 

Claud.  '  I  humbly  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  I  find,  I  seek  to  die. 
And  seeking  death,  find  life  :    let  it  come  on. 

Isab.     ^Without.']    What,  hoa  !    Peace  here  ;  grace 
and  good  company  ! 

Prov.     Who's  there  ?   come  in  :   the  wish  deserves 
a  welcome. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke.     Dear  sir,  ere  long  FU  visit  you  again. 
Claud.     Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 
Isab.     My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 
Prov.     And  very  welcome.     Look,  signior  ;   here's 

your  sister. 
Duke.     Provost,  a  word  with  you. 
Prov.  As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke.     Bring  me  to  hear  them  speak,  where  I  may 

be  conceal'd.  [^Exeunt  Duke  and  Provost. 

Claud.     Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort  ? 


54       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE,  act  hi. 

Isah.     Why,  as  all  comforts  are  ;    most  good,  most 
good  indeed. 
Lord  Angelo,  having  affairs  to  Heaven, 
Intends  you  for  his  swift  ambassador, 
Where  you  shall  be  an  everlasting  leiger : 
Therefore,  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed ; 
To-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

Isab.     None,  hwi  such  remedy,  as  to  save  a  head. 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  ? 

Isal.     Yes,  brother,  you  may  live  : 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge, 
If  you'll  implore  it,   that  will  free  your  life. 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance  ? 

Isah.     Ay,  just ;   perpetual  durance  :    a  restraint  — 
Though  all  the  world's  vastidity  you  had  — 
To  a  dctermin'd  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ? 

Isah.     In  such  a  one  as,  you  consenting  to't. 
Would  bark  your  honour  from  that  trunk  you  bear, 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  me  know  the  point. 

Isah.     O  !    I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio  ;   and  I  quake. 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  life  should' st  entertain. 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect, 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.     Dar'st  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension 
And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon, 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?     If  I  must  die. 


sc.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  55 

I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride, 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isab.     There  spake  my  brother  :    there  my  father's 
grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice.     Yes,  thou  must  die  : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.     This  outward- sainted  deputy, 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word 
Nips  youth  i'  th'  head,  and  follies  doth  emmew 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl,  is  yet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  Hell. 

Claud.  The  priestly  Angelo  ? 

Isah.     O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  Hell, 
The  damned' st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  priestly  guards  !     Dost  thou  think,   Claudio  ! 
If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity. 
Thou  might' st  be  freed. 

Claud.  O,  Heavens  !  it  cannot  be. 

Isah,     Yes,  he   would    give't   thee   from   this   rank 
offence. 
So  to  offend  him  still.     This  night's  the  time 
That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name. 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shalt  not  do't. 

Isah.     O  !  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isah.     Be  ready,  Claudio,  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claud.     Yes.     Has  he  affections  in  him, 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  th'  nose. 
When  he  would  force  it  ?     Sure,  it  is  no  sin ; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

Isah.     Which  is  the  least  ? 


56  MEASL'RE   FOR   MEASURE,     act   m. 

Claud.     If  it  were  damnable,  he  being  so  wise, 
Why  would  he  for  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fin'd  ?  —  O  Isabel  ! 

Isab.     What  says  my  brother  ? 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isab.     And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.      Ay,   but    to   die,    and    go    we    know    not 
where  ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  Avarm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;   and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 
To  be  imprison'd  in  the  viewless  winds 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world  ;    or  to  be,  Avorse  than  worst, 
Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine,  howling  !  —  'tis  too  horrible. 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life, 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isab.     Alas  !   alas  ! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live. 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life, 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far. 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  O,  you  beast  ! 

O,  faithless  coward  !     O,  dishonest  wretch  ! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice  ? 
Is't  not  a  kind  of  incest  to  take  life 
From    thine    own    sister's    shame  ?     What    should    I 

think  ? 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair  ! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 


sc.   I.  MEASURE   FOIl   MEASURE.  57 

Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.     Take  my  defiance  : 
Die  ;  perish  !  might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed. 
I'll  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death, 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claud.     Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Isab.  O,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! 

Thy  sin's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade. 
Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd  : 
'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly.  [Going. 

Claud.  O  hear  me,  Isabella  ! 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  Sister  ;  but  one 
word. 

Isab.     "What  is  your  will  ? 

Duke.  Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I 
would  by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you  :  the 
satisfaction  I  would  require  is  likewise  your  own 
benefit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superfluous  leisure  :  my  stay  must 
be  stolen  out  of  other  afiairs  ;  but  I  will  attend  you 
a  while. 

Duke.  \^To  Clatjdio.]  Son,  I  have  overheard  what 
hath  pass'd  between  you  and  your  sister.  Angelo  had 
never  the  purpose  to  corrupt  her ;  only  he  hath  made 
an  assay  of  her  virtue,  to  practise  his  judgment  with 
the  disposition  of  natures.  She,  having  the  truth  of 
honour  in  her,  hath  made  him  that  gracious  denial 
which  he  is  most  glad  to  receive  :  I  am  confessor  to 
Angelo,  and  I  know  this  to  be  true  ;  therefore  prepare 
yourself  to  death.  Do  not  satisfy  your  resolution  with 
hopes  that  are  fallible  :  to-morrow  you  must  die.  Go 
to  your  knees,  and  make  ready. 

d2 


58  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.     ACT   III 

Claud.     Let   me   ask  my  sister  pardon.     I   am   so 

out  of  love  with  life,  that  I  will  sue  to  be  rid  of  it. 

Duke.    Hold  you  there  :   farewell.     \_Exit  Claudio. 

Enter  Provost. 

Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Prov.     What's  your  will.  Father  ? 

Duke.  That  now  you  are  come,  you  will  be  gone. 
Leave  me  a  while  with  the  maid  :  my  mind  prom- 
ises with  my  habit  no  loss  shall  touch  her  by  my 
company. 

Prov.     In  good  time.  \_Exit  Provost. 

Duke.  The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair  hath 
made  you  good  :  the  goodness  that  is  cheap  in  beau- 
ty makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness  ;  but  grace,  being 
the  soul  of  your  complexion,  shall  keep  the  body  of 
it  ever  fair.  The  assault  that  Angelo  hath  made  to 
you,  fortune  hath  convey'd  to  my  understanding  ;  and, 
but  that  frailty  hath  examples  for  his  falling,  I  should 
wonder  at  Angelo.  How  will  you  do  to  content  this 
substitute  and  to  save  your  brother  ? 

Isab.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him.  I  had  rath- 
er my  brother  die  by  the  law,  than  my  son  should 
be  unlawfully  born.  But  O,  how  much  is  the  good 
Duke  deceiv'd  in  Angelo  !  If  ever  he  return,  and  I 
can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open  my  lips  in  vain,  or 
discover  his  government. 

Duke.  That  shall  not  be  much  amiss ;  yet,  as  the 
matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusation  :  — 
he  made  trial  of  you  only.  Therefore,  fasten  your  ear 
on  my  advisings  :  to  the  love  I  have  in  doing  good, 
a  remedy  presents  itself.  I  do  make  myself  believe, 
that  you  may  most  uprighteously  do  a  poor  wronged 
lady  a  merited  benefit,  redeem  your  brother  from  the 


SC.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.        .         59 

angry  law,  do  no  stain  to  your  own  gracious  person, 
and  much  please  the  absent  Duke,  if,  peradventure, 
he  shall  ever  return  to  have  hearing  of  this  busi- 
ness. 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  farther.  I  have  spirit 
to  do  any  thing  that  appears  not  foul  in  the  truth  of 
my  spirit. 

Buke.  Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never  fearful. 
Have  you  not  heard  speak  of  Mariana,  the  sister  of 
Frederick,  the  great  soldier  who  miscarried  at  sea  ? 

Isah.  I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words 
went  with  her  name. 

Duke.  She  should  this  Angelo  have  married ;  was 
affianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed  : 
between  which  time  of  the  contract  and  limit  of  the 
solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick  was  wrack' d  at  sea, 
having  in  that  perish' d  vessel  the  dowry  of  his  sis- 
ter. But  mark  how  heavily  this  befell  to  the  poor 
gentlewoman  :  there  she  lost  a  noble  and  renowned 
brother,  in  his  love  toward  her  ever  most  kind  and 
natural ;  with  him  the  portion  and  sinew  of  her  for- 
tune, her  marriage-dowry ;  with  both,  her  combinate 
husband,  this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isah.     Can  this  be  so?     Did  Angelo  so  leave  her? 

Duke.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dried  not  one  of 
them  with  his  comfort;  swallowed  his  vows  whole, 
pretending  -in  her  discoveries  of  dishonour  :  in  few, 
bestow' d  her  on  her  own  lamentation,  which  she  yet 
wears  for  his  sake,  and  he,  a  marble  to  her  tears,  is 
washed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

Isah.  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death  to  take  this 
poor  maid  from  the  world  !  What  corruption  in  this 
life,  that  it  will  let  this  man  live  !  —  But  how  out 
of  this  can  she  avail  ? 

Duke.     It  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily  heal; 


60    .   MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  ill. 

and  tlie  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but 
keeps  you  from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 

Isab.     Show  me  how,  good  Father. 

Duke.  This  fore-named  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the 
continuance  of  her  first  afi'ection  :  his  unjust  unkind- 
ness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have  quenched  her  love, 
hath,  like  an  impediment  in  the  current,  made  it  more 
violent  and  unruly.  Go  you  to  Angelo  :  answer  his 
requiring  with  a  plausible  obedience  ;  agree  with  his 
demands  to  the  point  :  only  refer  yourself  to  this 
advantage,  —  first,  that  your  stay  Avith  him  may  not 
be  long,  that  the  time  may  have  all  shadow  and  silence 
in  it,  and  the  place  answer  to  convenience.  This  being 
granted  in  course,  and  now  follows  all  :  we  shall  ad- 
vise this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your  appointment, 
go  in  your  place  ;  if  the  encounter  acknowledge  it- 
self hereafter,  it  may  compel  him  to  her  recompense ; 
and  here  by  this  is  your  brother  saved,  your  honour 
untainted,  the  poor  Mariana  advantaged,  and  the  cor- 
rupt deputy  foiled.  The  maid  will  I  frame,  and  make 
fit  for  his  attempt.  If  you  think  well  to  carry  this 
—  as  you  may  —  the  doubleness  of  the  benefit  defends 
the  deceit  from  reproof.     What  think  you  of  it  ? 

Isah.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already, 
and,  I  trust,  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  per- 
fection. 

Duke.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up.  Haste 
you  speedily  to  Angelo  :  if  for  this  night  he  entreat 
you  to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I 
will  presently  to  St.  Luke's  ;  there,  at  the  Moated 
Orange,  resides  this  dejected  Mariana  :  at  that  place 
call  upon  me,  and  dispatch  with  Angelo,  that  it  may 
be  quickly. 

hah.  I  thank  you  for  this  comfort.  Fare  you  well, 
good  Father.  \_Exeunt.  severally. 


SC.   II.         MEAStTRE    FOR   MEASURE.  61 

Scene  II. 

The    Street  before  the  Prison.. 

Enter  Duke  as  a  Friar ;  to  him  Elbow,  Clown, 
and  Officers. 

Elb.  Nay,  if  there  be  no  remedy  for  it,  but  that 
you  will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women  like 
beasts,  we  shall  have  all  the  world  drink  brown  and 
white  bastard. 

Duke.     O  Heavens  !   Avhat  stuff  is  here  ? 

Clo.  'Twas  never  merry  world,  since,  of  two  usu- 
ries, the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  w'orser  al- 
low'd  by  order  of  law  a  furr'd  gown  to  keep  him 
warm ;  and  furred  with  fox  and  lamb-skins  too,  to 
signify  that  craft,  being  richer  than  innocency,  stands 
for  the  facing. 

Elb.  Come  your  way,  sir.  —  'Bless  you,  good  Fa- 
ther friar. 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  father.  What  of- 
fence hath  this  man  made  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  he  hath  offended  the  law  :  and, 
sir,  we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir ;  for  w^e  have 
found  upon  him,  sir,  a  strange  pick-lock,  which  we 
have  sent  to  the  Deputy. 

Duke.     Fie,  sirrah :   a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd ! 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done. 
That  is  thy  means  to  live.     Do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back. 
From  such  a  filthy  vice:   say  to  thyself, 
From  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 
I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life. 
So  stinkingly  depending  ?     Go  mend,  go  mend. 


62       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  ACT  in. 

Clo.  Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,  sir ;  but 
yet,  sir,  I  would  prove  — 

Duke.     Nay,  if  the  Devil    have    given  thee  proofs 
for  sin, 
Thou  wilt  j)rove  his.     Take  him  to  prison,  officer  : 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work. 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Elb.  He  must  before  the  Deputy,  sir  ;  he  has  given 
him  warning.  The  Deputy  cannot  abide  a  whore- 
master  :  if  he  be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes  before 
him,  he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his  errand. 

Duke.  That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem  to  be, 
[Free]  from  our  faults,  as  from  faults  seeming  free ! 

Enter  Lucio. 

Elh.  His  neck  will  come  to  your  waist  —  a  cord, 
sir. 

Clo.  I  spy  comfort :  I  cry  bail.  Here's  a  gen- 
tleman, and  a  friend  of  mine. 

Lucio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey !  What,  at  the 
wheels  of  Caesar  ?  Art  thou  led  in  triumph  ?  What, 
is  there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly  made 
woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  putting  the  hand  in  the 
pocket  and  extracting  it  clutch' d  ?  What  reply  ?  Ha  ! 
What  say'st  thou  to  this  tune,  matter,  and  method  ? 
Is't  not  drown'd  i'  th'  last  rain  ?  Ha  !  What  say'st 
thou.  Trot  ?  Is  the  world  as  it  was,  man  ?  Which 
is  the  way  ?  Is  it  sad  and  few  words,  or  how  ?  The 
trick  of  it  ? 

Duke.     Still  thus,  and  thus  :    still  worse  ! 

Lucio.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  ? 
Procures  she  still  ?     Ha  ! 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef, 
and  she  is  herself  in  the  tub. 

Lucio.     Why,  'tis  good  ;    it   is   the  right  of  it ;    it 


so.   II.         MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  63 

must  be  so  :  ever  your  fresh  whore  and  your  pow- 
der'd  bawd  :  an  unshunn'd  consequence ;  it  must  be 
so.     Art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  ? 

Clo.     Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Lucio.  Why,  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey.  Farewell. 
Go  ;  say,  I  sent  thee  thither.  For  debt,  Pompey,  or 
how  ? 

Elb.     For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lucio.  Well,  then  imprison  him.  If  imprisonment 
be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :  bawd  is 
he,  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too  —  bawd-born. 
Farewell,  good  Pompey ;  commend  me  to  the  prison, 
Pompey.  You  will  turn  good  husband  now,  Pompey ; 
you  will  keep  the  house. 

Clo.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  my 
bail. 

Lucio.  No,  indeed  will  I  not,  Pompey ;  it  is  not 
the  wear.  I  Avill  pray,  Pompey,  to  increase  your 
bondage  :  if  you  take  it  not  patiently,  why,  your 
mettle  is  the  more.  Adieu,  trusty  Pompey.  —  Bless 
you.  Friar. 

Duke.     And  you. 

Lucio.    Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey  ?     Ha  ! 

Elb.     Come  your  ways,  sir ;    come. 

Clo.     You  will  not  bail  me  then,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Then,  Pompey,  nor  now.  —  What  news 
abroad.  Friar  ?     What  news  ? 

Elb.     Come  your  ways,  sir  ;   come. 

Lucio.     Go  ;   to  kennel,  Pompey,  go. 

[^Exeunt  Elbow,  Clown,  and  Officers. 
What  news.  Friar,  of  the  Duke  ? 

Duke.     I  know  none.     Can  you  tell  me  of  any? 

Lucio.  Some  say,  he  is  with  the  Emperor  of  Rus- 
sia ;  other  some,  he  is  in  Rome  :  but  where  is  he, 
think  you  ? 


64  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE,      act  iit. 

Duke.  I  know  not  where  ;  but  wheresoever,  1  wish 
him  well. 

Lucio.  It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him,  to 
steal  from  the  State,  and  usurp  the  beggary  he  was 
never  born  to.  Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his 
absence :   he  puts  transgression  to't. 

Duke.     He  does  well  in't. 

Lucio.  A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  do 
no  harm  in  him  :  something  too  crabbed  that  way. 
Friar. 

Duke.     It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity  must 

cure  it. 

Lucio.  Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great 
kindred  :  it  is  well  allied ;  but  it  is  impossible  to 
extirp  it  quite.  Friar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be  put 
down.  They  say,  this  Angelo  was  not  made  by  man 
and  woman,  after  this  downright  way  of  creation  :  is 
it  true,  think  you  ? 

Duke.     How  should  he  be  made  then? 

Lucio.  Some  report,  a  sea-maid  spawn' d  him  :  some, 
that  he  was  begot  between  two  stock-fishes  ;  but  it  is 
certain,  that  when  he  makes  water,  his  urine  is  con- 
geal'd  ice  :  that  I  know  to  be  true ;  and  he  is  a  mo- 
tion ungenerative,  that's  infallible. 

Duke.     You  are  pleasant,  sir,  and  speak  apace. 

Lucio.  Why,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in  him, 
for  the  rebellion  of  a  cod-piece  to  take  away  the  life 
of  a  man  ?  Would  the  Duke  that  is  absent  have 
done  this  ?  Ere  he  would  have  hang'd  a  man  for  the 
getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  would  have  paid  for 
the  nursing  a  thousand.  He  had  some  feeling  of  the 
sport :  he  knew  the  service,  and  that  instructed  him 
to  mercy. 

Duke.  I  never  heard  the  absent  Duke  much  de- 
tected for  women  :    he  was  not  inclin'd  that  way. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  65 

Lucio.    O,  sir  !   you  are  deceiv'd. 

Duke.     'Tis  not  possible. 

Lucio.  Who  ?  not  the  Duke  ?  yes,  your  beggar  of 
fifty  ;  and  his  use  was,  to  put  a  ducat  in  her  clack- 
dish.  The  Duke  had  crotchets  in  him  :  he  would  be 
drunk  too  ;    that  let  me  inform  you. 

Duke.     You  do  him  wrong,  surely. 

Lucio.  Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  his.  A  shy  fellow 
was  the  Duke  ;  and,  I  believe,  I  know  the  cause  of 
his  withdrawing. 

Duke.     What,  I  pr'ythee,  might  be  the  cause  ? 

Lucio.  No,  —  pardon:  —  'tis  a  secret  must  be  lock'd 
within  the  teeth  and  the  lips  ;  but  this  I  can  let  you 
understand,  —  the  greater  file  of  the  subject  held  the 
Duke  to  be  Avise. 

Duke.     Wise  ?   why,  no   question  but  he  was. 

Lucio.  Avery  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing  fel- 
low. 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envy  in  you,  folly,  or  mis- 
taking :  the  very  stream  of  his  life,  and  the  business 
he  hath  helmed,  must,  upon  a  warranted  need,  give 
him  a  better  proclamation.  Let  him  be  but  testi- 
monied  in  his  own  bringings  forth,  and  he  shall  ap- 
pear to  the  envious  a  scholar,  a  statesman,  and  a 
soldier.  Therefore,  you  speak  unskilfully ;  or,  if 
your  knowledge  be  more,  it  is  much  darken'd  in  your 
malice. 

Lucio.     Sir,  I  know  him  and  I  love  him. 

Duke.  Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and 
knowledge  with  dearer  love. 

Lucio.    Come,  sir,  I  know  what  I  know. 

Duke.  I  can  hardly  believe  that,  since  you  know 
not  what  you  speak.  But,  if  ever  the  Duke  return, 
(as  our  prayers  are  he  may,)  let  me  desire  you  to 
make  your  answer  before  him  :    if  it  be  honest    you 

VOL.    III.  E 


66  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.      ACT   ill 

have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to  maintain  it.  I  am 
bound  to  call  upon  you ;  and,  I  pray  you,  your 
name  ? 

Liicio.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio,  well  known  to  the 
Duke. 

Duke.  He  shall  know  you  better,  sir,  if  I  may 
live  to  report  you. 

Lucio.    I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O  !  you  hope  the  Duke  will  return  no  more, 
or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite.  But, 
indeed,  I  can  do  you  little  harm  :  you'll  forswear  this 
again. 

Lucio.  I'll  be  hang'd  first  :  thou  art  deceiv'd  in 
me.  Friar.  But  no  more  of  this.  Canst  thou  tell  if 
Claudio  die  to-morrow,   or  no  ? 

Duke.     Why  should  he  die,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Why  ?  for  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish. 
I  would  the  Duke,  we  talk  of,  we/e  return' d  again  : 
this  imgenitur'd  agent  Avill  unpeople  the  province 
with  continency  ;  sparrows  mvist  not  build  in  his 
house-eaves,  because  they  are  lecherous.  The  Duke 
yet  would  have  dark  deeds  darkly  answer'd  ;  he  would 
never  bring  them  to  light :  would  he  were  return'd ! 
Marry,  this  Claudio  is  condemn' d  for  untrussing. 
Farewell,  good  Friar ;  I  pr'ythee,  pray  for  me.  The 
Duke,  I  say  to  thee  again,  would  eat  mutton  on  Fri- 
days. He's  now  past  it ;  yet,  and  I  say  to  thee,  he 
would  mouth  with  a  beggar,  though  she  smelt  brown 
bread  and  garlic  :    say  that  I  said  so.     Farewell. 

lExit. 

Duke.     No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape  :    back-wounding  calumny 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes.     What  Kin";  so  strong 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  ? 
But  who  comes  here  ? 


sc.    II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  67 

Enter  Escalus,  Provost,  Bawd,  and  Officers. 

Escal.     Go  :    away  with  her  to  prison  ! 

Bawd.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me  ;  your  honour 
is  accounted  a  merciful  man,  good  my  lord. 

Escal.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still  for- 
feit in  the  same  kind  ?  This  would  make  mercy  swear, 
and  play  the  tyrant. 

Prov.  A  bawd  of  eleven  years'  continuance,  may 
it  please  your  honour. 

Bawd.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  information 
against  me.  Mistress  Kate  Keep-down  was  with  child 
by  him  in  the  Duke's  time  :  he  promised  her  mar- 
riage ;  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old,  come 
Philip  and  Jacob.  I  have  kept  it  myself,  and  see 
how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me  ! 

Escal.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  license  : 
—  let  him  be  call'd  before  us.  —  Away  with  her  to 
prison  !  Go  to  ;  no  more  words.  \_Exemit  Bawd  and 
Officers.]  Provost,  my  brother  Angelo  will  not  be 
alter' d ;  Claudio  must  die  to-morrow.  Let  him  be 
furnish' d  with  divines,  and  have  all  charitable  prep- 
aration :  if  my  brother  wrought  by  my  pity,  it  should 
not  be  so  with  him. 

Prov.  So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  with 
him,  and  advis'd  him  for  th'  entertainment  of  death. 

Escal.    Good  even,  good  Father. 

Duke.     Bliss  and  goodness  on  you. 

Escal.    Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke.     Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance  is  now 
To  use  it  for  my  time  :    I  am  a  Brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  See, 
In  special  business  from  his  Holiness. 

Escal.    What  news  abroad  i'  th'  world  ? 


68      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE,  act  iir. 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  great  a  fever  on 
goodness,  that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it  : 
novelty  is  only  in  request ;  and  it  is  as  dangerous 
to  be  aged  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous 
to  be  constant  in  any  undertaking.  There  is  scarce 
truth  enough  alive  to  make  societies  secure,  but 
security  enough  to  make  fellowships  accurs'd.  Much 
upon  this  riddle  runs  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  This 
news  is  old  enovigh,  yet  it  is  every  day's  news.  I 
pray  you,  sir,  of  what  disposition  was  the  Duke  ? 

Escal.  One  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  contend- 
ed especially  to  know  himself. 

Duke.     What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry,  than 
merry  at  any  thing  which  profess' d  to  make  him  re- 
joice :  a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But  leave  we 
him  to  his  events,  with  a  prayer  they  may  prove 
prosperous,  and  let  me  desire  to  know  how  you  find 
Claudio  prepar'd.  I  am  made  to  understand  that 
you  have  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister, 
measure  from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly  humbles 
himself  to  the  determination  of  justice  ;  yet  had  he 
framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction  of  his  frailty, 
many  deceiving  promises  of  life,  which  I,  by  my  good 
leisure,  have  discredited  to  him ;  and  now  is  he  rc- 
solv'd  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  Heavens  your  function, 
and  the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  calling.  I 
have  labour" d  for  the  poor  gentleman  to  the  extremcst 
shore  of  my  modesty  ;  but  my  brother  justice  have 
I  found  so  severe,  that  he  hath  forc'd  me  to  tell 
him,  he  is  indeed  —  Justice. 

Duke.     If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of  his 


sc.   II.         MEASURE   FOR    MEASURE.  69 

proceeding,  it  shall  become  him  well  :   wherein  if  he 
chance  to  fail,  he  hath  sentenc'd  himself. 

Escal.     I   am  going    to    visit    the    prisoner.     Fare 
you  well. 

Duke.     Peace  be  Avith  you  ! 

\_Exeunt  Escalus  and  Provost. 
He,  who  the  sword  of  Heaven  will  bear,    • 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe  ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying, 
Than  by  self  offences  weighing. 
Shame  to  him,  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking  ! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice,  and  let  his  grow  ! 
O,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  may  likeness  wade  in  crimes. 
Making  practice  on  the  times, 
To  draw  with  idle  spiders'   strings 
Most  pond'rous  and  substantial  things  ! 
Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply. 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despised  : 
So  disguise  shall,  by  th'  disguised. 
Pay  with  falsehood  false  exacting. 
And  perform"  an  old  contracting.  \_Ei'it. 


70       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  IT. 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Room  at  the  Moated  Grange. 
Makiana  discovered  sitting  :    a  Boy  singing. 

Song. 

TAKE,    0  !    take  those  lips  away. 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn  : 
But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

bring  again, 
Seals  of  love,  hut  seal'd  in  vain, 

seaVd  in  vain. 

Mari.     Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick 
away : 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  still" d  my  brawling  discontent.  — 

\_Exit  Boy. 
Enter  Duke. 

I  cry  you,  mercy,  sir,   and  well  could  wish 

You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical : 

Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, 

My  mirth  it  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas' d  my  woe. 

Duke.     'Tis   good  :    though  music  oft  hath  such  a 
charm. 
To  make  bad  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inquired  for  me 
here  to-day  ?     Much  upon  this  time  have  I  promised 
here  to  meet. 

Mari.     You  have  not  been  inquired  after  :   I  have 
sat  here   all   day. 


sc.   I.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  71 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke.  I  do  constantly  believe  you.  —  The  time  is 
come,  even  now.  I  shall  crave  your  forbearance  a 
little  :  may  be,  I  will  call  upon  you  anon  for  some 
advantage  to  yourself. 

Mari.     I  am  always  bound  to  you.  \_Exit. 

Duke.     Very  well  met,  and  welcome. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  Deputy  ? 

Isah.     He  hath  a  garden  circummur'd  with   brick, 
"Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd  ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planched  gate. 
That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key  : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door. 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads  ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  upon  the  heavy  middle 
of  the  night  to  call  upon  him. 

Duke.     But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  this 
way  ? 

Isab.     I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon't : 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence, 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me 
The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance  ? 

Isab.     No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'  th'   dark ; 
And  that  I  have  possess' d  him  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:    for  I  have  made  him  know, 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along, 
That  stays  upon  me,  Avhose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borne  up. 

I  have  not  yet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this.  —  What,  hoa  !    within  !    come  forth. 


72       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  it. 

Enter  Makiana. 

I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid  : 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 

Isah.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.     Do    you    persuade    yourself   that   I   respect 
you? 

Mari.      Good    friar,    I    know    you    do,    and    have 
found  it. 

Duke.     Take  then  this  your  companion  by  the  hand. 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear. 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure  :   but  make  haste  ; 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 

Mari.  Will't  please  you  walk  aside  ? 

\_Exeunt  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Duke.     O  place  and  greatness  1  millions  of  false  eyes 
Are  stuck  upon  thee.     Volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious   quests 
Upon  thy  doings  :    thousand  escapes  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dream, 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies  ! 

Enter  Makiana  and  Isabella. 

Welcome  !     How  agreed  ? 

Isah.     She'll  take  the  enterprise  upon  her,  Father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent. 

But  my  entreaty  too. 

Isab.  Little  have  you  to  say, 

When  you  depart  from  him,  but,   soft  and  low, 
'  Remember  now  my  brother.' 

Mari.  Fear  me  not. 

Duke.     Nor,  gentle  daughter,  fear   you  not  at  all. 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contract : 


sc.    II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  73 

To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin, 
Sith  that  the  justice  of  your  title  to  him 
Doth  floui-ish  the  deceit.     Come,  let  us  go  : 
Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tilth's  to  sow. 

\^Exeunt. 

Scene  II. 

A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Provost  and  Clown. 

Prov.  Come  hither,  sirrah.  Can  you  cut  off  a 
man's  head  ? 

Clo.  If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can ;  but  if 
he  be  a  married  man,  he  is  his  wife's  head,  and  I 
can  never  cut  off  a  woman's  head. 

Prov.  Come,  sir ;  leave  me  your  snatches,  and 
yield  me  a  direct  answer.  To-morrow  morning  are 
to  die  Claudio  and  Barnardine  :  here  is  in  our  prison 
a  common  executioner,  who  in  his  office  lacks  a 
helper  ;  if  you  will  take  it  on  you  to  assist  him,  it 
shall  redeem  you  from  your  gyves  ;  if  not,  you  shall 
have  your  full  time  of  imprisonment  and  your  de- 
liverance with  an  unpitied  whipping  ;  for  you  have 
been  a  notorious  bawd. 

Clo.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd,  time  out 
of  mind ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  lawful 
hangman.  I  would  be  glad  to  receive  some  instruc- 
tion from  my.  fellow-partner. 

Prov.  What  hoa,  Abhorson  !  Where's  Abhorson, 
there  ? 

Enter  Abhoesjn. 

Abhorson.     Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Prov.  Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  will  help  you  to- 
morrow in  your   execution.      If   you    think    it    meet. 

e2 


74       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

compound  with  him  by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide 
here  with  you  ;  if  not,  use  him  for  the  present,  and 
dismiss  him.  He  cannot  plead  his  estimation  with 
you  :    he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

Abhor.  A  bawd,  sir  ?  Fie  upon  him  !  he  will  dis- 
credit our  mystery. 

Prov.  Go  to,  sir ;  you  weigh  equally :  a  feather 
will  turn  the  scale.  \_Exit. 

Clo.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favour,  (for,  surely, 
sir,  a  good  favour  you  have,  but  that  you  have  a 
hanging  look,)  do  you  call,  sir,  your  occupation  a 
mystery  ? 

Abhor.     Ay,  sir  ;    a  mystery. 

Clo.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mys- 
tery ;  and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my 
occupation,  using  painting,  do  prove  my  occupation 
a  mystery ;  but  what  mystery  there  should  be  in 
hanging,  if  I  should  be  hang'd,  I  cannot  imagine. 

Abhor.     Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Clo.     Proof? 

Abhor.     Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your   thief. 

Clo.  If  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true 
man  thinks  it  big  enough ;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your 
thief,  your  thief  thinks  it  little  enough  ;  so,  every 
true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief. 

Enter  Provost. 

Prov.     Are  you   agreed  ? 

Clo.  Sir,  I  will  serve  him ;  for  I  do  find  your 
hangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd : 
he  doth  oftencr  ask  forgiveness. 

Prov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your 
axe  to-morrow,  —  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd  ;  I  will  instruct  thee  in 
my  trade :    follow. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  75 

Clo.  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir  ;  and,  I  hope,  if  you 
have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you  shall 
find  me  yare  ;  for,  truly,  sir,  for  your  kindness  I  owe 
you  a  good  turn. 

Prov.     Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 

\_Exeunt  Clown  a?id  Abhorson. 
Th'   one  has  my  pity;    not  a  jot  the  other, 
Being  a  murtherer,  though  he  were  my  brother. 

Enter  Claudio. 

Look,  here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death: 
'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.     Where's  Barnardine  ? 

Claud.     As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep  as  guiltless  la- 
bour, 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  traveller's  bones  : 
He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him? 

Well,  go  ;  prepare  yourself.     But  hark,  what  noise  ? 

\_Knocki/ig  icithin. 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !  —  By  and  by :  — 

\^Exit    CXAUDIO. 

I  hope  it  is  some  pardon,  or  reprieve, 

For  the  most  gentle  Claudio.  —  Welcome,  Father. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.     The   best   and   wholesom'st    spirits    of   the 
night 
Envelop  you,  good  Provost  !     Who  call'd  here  of  late  ? 
Prov.     None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 
Duke.  Not  Isabel? 

Prov.     No. 

Duke.  They  will,  then,  ere't  be  long. 

Prov.     What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ? 
Duke.  There's  some  in  hope. 


76       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

Prov.     It  is  a  bitter  Deputy. 

Duke.     Not  so,  not  so  :    his  life  is  parallel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice. 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others  :    were  he  meal'd  with  that 
Which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous  ; 

[^Knocking  within. 
But  this  being  so,  he's  just.  — Now  are  they  come. — 

\_Exit  Provost. 
This  is  a  gentle  Provost :    seldom,  when 
The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men.        \_Knocking. 
How  now  !    What  noise  ?    That  spirit's  possess' d  with 

haste, 
That  wounds  th'  unlisting  postern  with  these  strokes. 

Enter  Provost. 

Prov.     \_Speaki7ig  to  one  at  the  door.'\     There   he 
must  stay,  until  the   officer 
Arise  to  let  him  in  :   he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke.     Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet. 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Prov.  None,  sir,  none. 

Duke.     As  near  the  dawning.   Provost,  as  it  is. 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Prov.  Happely, 

You  something  know  ;    yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 
No  countermand  :    no  such  example  have  we. 
Besides,  upon  the  very  siege  of  justice. 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

This  is  his  lordship's   man. 
Duke.     And  here  comes  Claudio"s  pardon. 


sc.   II.         MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE.  77 

Messenger.  My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note ;  and 
by  me  this  further  charge,  that  you  swerve  not  from 
the  smallest  article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter,  or 
other  circumstance.  Good  morrow ;  for,  as  I  take  it, 
it  is  almost  day. 

Prov.     I  shall  obey  him.  [^Exit  Messenger. 

Duke.     This  is  his  pardon ;  purchas'd  by  such  sin, 

\^Aside. 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in : 
Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  celerity, 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority. 
When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended, 
That  for  the  fault's  love  is    th'  offender  friended.  — 
Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

Prov.  I  told  you  :  Lord  Angelo,  belike  thinking 
me  remiss  in  mine  office,  awakens  me  with  this  un- 
wonted putting-on  ;  methinks  strangely,  for  he  hath 
not  used  it  before. 

Duke.     Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Prov.  [Reads.]  "  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to 
the  contrary,  let  Claudio  he  executed  by  four  of  the 
clock ;  and,  in  the  afternoon,  Barnardine.  For  my 
better  satisfaction,  let  me  have  Claudio''s  head  sent  fue 
by  five.  Let  this  be  duly  perform' d ;  tvith  a  thought, 
that  more  depends  on  it  than  we  must  yet  deliver.  Thus 
fail  not  to  do  your  office,  as  you  will  answer  it  at  your 
peril." — What  say  you  to  this,  sir? 

Duke.  What  is  that  Barnardine,  who  is  to  be  ex- 
ecuted in  th'  afternoon  ? 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born  ;  but  here  nurs'd  up  and 
bred  :    one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old. 

Duke.  How  came  it  that  the  absent  Duke  had 
not  either  deliver' d  him  to  his  liberty,  or  executed 
him  ?     I  have  heard  it  was  ever  his  manner  to  do  so. 

Prov.     His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  him ; 


78       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv.  - 

and,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  government  of 
Lord  Angelo,  came  not  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 

Duke.     It  is  now  apparent  ? 

Prnr.     Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 

Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in  prison  ? 
How  seems  he  to  be  touch'd  ? 

Prov.  A  man  that  ajiprehends  death  no  more 
dreadfully  but  as  a  drunken  sleep  ;  careless,  reck- 
less, and  fearless  of  what's  past,  present,  or  to  come  : 
insensible  of  mortality,  and  desperately  mortal. 

Duke.     He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none.  He  hath  evermore  had 
the  liberty  of  the  prison :  give  him  leave  to  escape 
hence,  he  would  not :  drunk  many  times  a  day,  if 
not  many  days  entirely  drunk.  We  have  very  oft 
awak'd  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to  execution,  and 
show'd  him  a  seeming  warrant  for  it  :  it  hath  not 
moved  him  at  all. 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in 
your  brow.  Provost,  honesty  and  constancy  :  if  I  read 
it  not  truly,  my  ancient  skill  beguiles  me  ;  but  in 
the  boldness  of  my  cunning  I  will  lay  myself  in  haz- 
ard. Claudio,  whom  here  you  have  warrant  to  ex- 
ecute, is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the  law  than  Angelo, 
who  hath  sentenced  him.  To  make  you  understand 
this  in  a  manifested  effect,  I  crave  but  four  days'  res- 
pite, for  the  which  you  are  to  do  me  both  a  present 
imd  a  dangerous  courtesy. 

Prov.     Pray,  sir,  in  what? 

Duke.     In  the  delaying  death. 

Prov.  Alack  !  how  may  I  do  it,  having  the  hour 
limited,  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty,  to 
deliver  his  head  in  the  view  of  Angelo  ?  I  may  make 
my  case  as  Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in  the  smallest. 

Duke.     By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you : 


sc.   II.         MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  79 

if  my  instructions  may  be  your  guide,  let  this  Bar- 
nardine  be  this  morning  executed,  and  his  head  borne 
to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  dis- 
cover the  favour. 

Duke.  0  !  death's  a  great  disguiser,  and  you  may 
add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  dye  the  beard  ;  and 
say  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be  so  bared 
before  his  death  :  you  know  the  course  is  common. 
If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this,  more  than  thanks 
and  good  fortune,  by  the  saint  whom  I  profess,  I  will 
plead  against  it  with  my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  Father  :  it  is  against  my 
oath. 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  Duke,  or  to  the 
Deputy  ? 

Prov.     To  him  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke.  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence, 
if  the  Duke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  dealing. 

Prov.     But  what  likelihood  is  in  that? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet 
since  I  see  you  fearful  tliat  neither  my  coat,  integ- 
rity, nor  my  persuasion,  can  with  ease  attempt  you, 
I  will  go  farther  than  I  meant,  to  pluck  all  fears  out 
of  you.  Look  you,  sir  ;  here  is  the  hand  and  seal 
of  the  Duke  :  you  know  the  character,  I  doubt  not, 
and  the  signet  is  not  strange  to  you. 

Prov.     I  know  them  both. 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  the 
Duke  :  you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  pleasure, 
where  you  shall  find,  within  these  two  days  he  will 
be  here.  This  is  a  thing  that  Angelo  knows  not, 
for  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of  strange  tenor ; 
perchance,  of  the  Duke's  death  ;  perchance,  entering 
into    some    monastery ;    but,    by   chance,    nothing    of 


80       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

what  is  [here]  writ.  Look,  th'  unfolding  star  calls 
up  the  shepherd.  Put  not  yourself  into  amazement 
how  these  things  should  be  :  all  diificulties  are  but 
easy  when  they  are  known.  Call  your  executioner, 
and  off  with  Barnardine's  head  :  I  will  give  him  a 
present  shrift,  and  advise  him  for  a  better  place.  Yet 
you  are  amazed ;  but  this  shall  absolutely  resolve  you. 
Come  away  ;  it  is  almost  clear  dawn.  [_Exeujit. 


Scene   III. 
Another  Room  in  the  Same. 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  here,  as  I  was  in 
our  house  of  profession  :  one  would  think  it  were 
Mistress  Over-done's  own  house  ;  for  here  be  many  of 
her  old  customers.  First,  here's  young  Master  Rash ; 
he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and  old  gin- 
ger, ninescore  and  seventeen  pounds,  of  which  he  made 
five  marks,  ready  money  :  marry,  then,  ginger  was  not 
much  in  request,  for  the  old  women  were  all  dead. 
Then  is  there  here  one  Master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of 
Master  Three-pile  the  mercer,  for  some  four  suits  of 
peach-colour' d  satin,  which  now  peaches  him  a  beg- 
gar. Then  have  we  here  young  Dizzy,  and  young 
Master  Deep-vow,  and  Master  Copper-spur,  and 
Master  Starve-lackey,  the  rapier-and-dagger-man,  and 
young  Drop-heir  that  kill'd  Lusty  Pudding,  and 
Master  Forthright  the  tilter,  and  brave  Master  Shoe- 
tie  the  great  traveller,  and  wild  Half-can  that  stabbd 
Pots,  and,  I  think,  forty  more,  all  great  doers  in  our 
trade,  and  are  now  for  the  Lord's  sake. 


8C.   III.       MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  81 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.     Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 

Clo.  Mr.  Barnardine  !  you  must  rise  and  be  hang'd, 
Mr.  Barnardine. 

Abhor.     What,  hoa,  Barnardine  ! 

Barnar.  \_Within.']  A  pox  o' your  throats  !  Who 
makes  that  noise  there  ?     What  are  you  ? 

Clo.  Your  friends,  sir ;  the  hangman.  You  must 
be  so  good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 

Barnar.  [  Within.'^  Away,  you  rogue,  away !  I 
am  sleepy. 

Abhor.  Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that  quick- 
ly too. 

Clo.  Pray,  Master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you  are 
executed,  and  sleep  afterwards. 

Abhor.     Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  him  out. 

Clo.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming  :  I  hear  hie 
straw  rustle. 

Enter  Barnardine. 

Abhor.     Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah  ? 

Clo.     Very  ready,  sir. 

Barnar.  How  now,  Abhorson  ?  what's  the  news 
with  you  r 

Abhor.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap  into 
your  prayers  ;    for,  look  you,  the  warrant's  come. 

Barnar.  You  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all 
night :    I  am  not  fitted  for't. 

Clo.  O,  the  better,  sir;  for  he  that  drinks  all 
night,  and  is  hang'd  betimes  in  the  morning,  may 
sleep  the  sounder  all  the  next  day. 

Enter  Duke. 

Abhor.  Look  you,  sir ;  here  comes  your  ghostly 
father.     Do  we  jest  now,  think  you  r 

VOL.    III.  F 


82       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  IV. 

Duke.  Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing 
how  hastily  you  are  to  depart,  I  am  come  to  advise 
you,  comfort  you,  and  pray  with  you. 

Barnar.  Friar,  not  I  :  I  have  been  drinking  hard 
all  night,  and  I  will  have  more  time  to  prepare  me, 
or  they  shall  beat  out  my  brains  with  billets.  I  will 
not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that's  certain. 

Duke.     0,  sir,  you  must ;   and  therefore,  I  beseech 
you. 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 

Barnar.  I  swear,  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any 
man's  persuasion. 

Duke.     But  hear  you,  — 

Barnar.  Not  a  word  :  if  you  have  any  thing  to 
say  to  me,  come  to  my  ward ;  for  thence  will  not  I 
to-day.  \_Exit. 

Enter  Provost. 

Duke.  Unfit  to  live,  or  die.  O,  grovelling  beast !  — 
After  him,  fellows  :    bring  him  to  the  block. 

\_Exeunt  Abhors  on  and  Clown. 

Prov.     Now,  sir;    how  do  you  find  the  prisoner? 

Duke.     A  creature  unprepar'd,  unmeet  for  death ; 
And  to  transport  him,  in  the  mind  he  is, 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  Father, 

There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years  ;    his  beard  and  head 
Just  of  his  colour.     What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate,  till  he  were  well  inclin'd. 
And  satisfy  the  Deputy  with  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio  ? 

Duke.     O,   'tis  an  accident  that  Heaven   provides  ! 
Dispatch  it  presently  :    the  hour  draws  on 
Prefix' d  by  Angclo.     See  this  be  done, 


sc.   III.       MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  83 

And  sent  according  to  command,  whiles  1 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

Prov.     This  shall  be  done,  good  Father,  presently. 
But  Barnardine  must  die  this  afternoon  ; 
And  how  shall  we  continue  Claudio, 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  come. 
If  he  were  known  alive  ? 

Duke.    Let  this  be  done.  —  Put  them  in  secret  holds, 
Both  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 
Ere  twice  the  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting 
To  th'  under  generation,  you  shall  find 
Your  safety  manifested. 

Prov.     I  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke.     Quick,  dispatch,  and  send  the  head  to  An- 
gelo.  [^Exit  Provost. 

Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, 
(The  Provost,  he  shall  bear  them)  whose  contents 
Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home. 
And  that,  by  great  injunctions,  I  am  bound 
To  enter  publicly.     Him  I'll  desire 
To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 
A  league  below  the  city ;    and  from  thence, 
By  cold  gradation  and  well-balanc'd  form. 
We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Enter  Provost. 

Prov.     Here  is  the  head  ;    I'll  carry  it  myself. 

Duke.     Convenient  is  it.     Make  a  swift  return, 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things, 
That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 

Prov.  I'll  make  all  speed.     \^Exit. 

Isdb.     \_Within.~\     Peace,  hoa,  be  here! 

Duke.    The  tongue  of  Isabel.  —  She's  come  to  know, 
If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither ; 
But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  of   her  good, 


84       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  ir. 

To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair, 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.     Hoa  !  by  your  leave. 

Duke.     Good    morning    to    you,   fair   and    gracious 
daughter. 

Isab.     The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Hath  yet  the  Deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon? 

Duke.     lie  hath  releas'd  him,  Isabel,  from  the  world. 
His  head  is  off,  and  sent  to  Angelo. 

Isab.     Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.  It  is  no  other. 

Shew  your  wisdom,  daughter,  in  your  close  patience. 

Isab.     O,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes  ! 

Duke.    You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

Isab.     Unhappy  Claudio  !     Wretched  Isabel  ! 
Injurious  world  !     Most  damned  Angelo  ! 

Duke.    This  nor  hurts  him,  nor  profits  you  a  jot : 
Forbear  it  therefore  ;    give  your  cause  to  Heaven. 
Mark  what  I  say,  which  you  shall  find 
By  every  syllable  a  faithful  verity. 
The  Duke  comes  home  to-morrow  ;  —  nay,  dry  your 

eyes : 
One  of  our  convent,  and  his  confessor, 
Gives  me  this  instance.     Already  he  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  Angelo 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates. 
There  to  give  up  their  power.     If  you  can,  pace  your 

wisdom 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go  ; 
And  you  shall  have  your  bosom  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  Duke,  revenges  to  your  heart. 
And  general  honour. 

Isab.  I  am  directed  by  you. 


sc.   III.       MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  85 

Buke.     This  letter,  then,  to  Friar  Peter  give  ; 
'Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  Duke's  return  : 
Say,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
At  Mariana's  house  to-night.     Her  cause  and  yours 
I'll  perfect  him  withal ;  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  Duke,  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home,  and  home.     For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow, 
And  shall  be  absent.     Wend  you  with  this  letter. 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
"With  a  light  heart :    trust  not  my  holy  order. 
If  I  pervert  your  course.  —  Who's  here  ? 

Enter  Lircio. 

Lucio.  Good  even. 

Friar,  where  is  the  Provost  ? 

Duke.  Not  within,  sir. 

Lucio.  O,  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mine  heart, 
to  see  thine  eyes  so  red  :  thou  must  be  patient.  I 
am  fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water  and  bran  ;  I  dare 
not,  for  my  head,  fill  my  belly  :  one  fruitful  meal  would 
set  me  to't.  But  they  say  the  Duke  will  be  here  to- 
morrow. By  my  troth,  Isabel,  I  lov'd  thy  brother : 
if  the  old  fantastical  Duke  of  dark  corners  had  been 
at  home,  he  had  lived.  \^Exit  Isabella. 

Duke.  Sir,  the  Duke  is  marvellous  little  behold- 
ing to  your  reports  ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in 
them. 

Lucio.  Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  Duke  so  well 
as  I  do  :  ,he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  tak'st 
him  for. 

Duke.  Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.  Fare 
ye  well. 

Lucio.  Nay,  tarry  ;  I'll  go  along  with  thee  I 
can  tell  thee  pretty  tales  of  the  Duke. 


I 


86       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

Duke.  You  have  told  me  too  many  of  him  already, 
sir,  if  they  be  true  ;   if  not  true,  none  were  enough. 

Lucio.  I  was  once  before  him  for  getting  a  wench 
with  child. 

Duke.     Did  you  such  a  thing  ? 

Lucio.  Yes,  marry,  did  I ;  but  I  was  fain  to  for- 
swear it :  they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the 
rotten  medlar. 

Duke.  Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest. 
Rest  you  well. 

Lucio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the  lane's 
end.  If  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we'll  have  very  little 
of  it.     Nay,  Friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr ;  I  shall  stick. 

[^Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. 
A   Room   in   Angelo's   House. 

Enter  Angelo  and  Escalus. 

Escal.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouch'd 
[the]  other. 

Ang.  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner.  His 
actions  show  much  like  to  madness  :  pray  Heaven, 
his  wisdom  be  not  tainted  !  And  why  meet  him  at 
the  gates,  and  re-deliver  our  authorities  there  ? 

Escal.     I  guess  not. 

Ang.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour 
before  his  ent'ring,  that  if  any  crave  redress  of  in- 
justice, they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  in  the 
street  ? 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that:  to  have  a 
dispatch  of  complaints,  and  to  deliver  us  from  de- 
vices hereafter,  which  shall  then  have  no  power  to 
stand  against  us. 


SC.   V.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  87 

Ang.  Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaim'd: 
betimes  i'  tb'  morn,  I'll  call  you  at  your  house.  Give 
notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit,  as  are  to  meet 
him. 

Escal.     I  shall,  sir :    fare  you  well.  \_Exit. 

Ang.     Good  night.  — 
This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpregnant, 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.     A  deflowered  maid, 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enforc'd 
The  law  against  it !  —  But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss. 
How  might  she  tongue  me  !    Yet  reason  dares  her  on ; 
For  my  authority  bears  up  a  credent  bulk 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch. 
But  it  confounds  the  breather.     He  should  have  liv'd, 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense. 
Might  in  the  times  to  come  have  ta'en  revenge, 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour' d  life 
With  ransom  of  such  shame.    Would  yet  he  had  liv'd  ! 
Alack  !    when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot. 
Nothing  goes  right :   we  would,  and  we  would  not. 

l^Exit. 

Scene  V. 
Fields  without  the  Town. 

Enter  Duke,  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Petek. 

Duke.     These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me. 
The  Provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction. 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift. 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to  that, 
As  cause  doth  minister.     Go,  call  at  Flavins'  house, 
And  tell  him  where  I  stay  :    give  the  like  notice 


88       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

To  Valentius,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 

And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate ; 

But  send  me  Flavins  first. 

Friar  Peter.  It  shall  be  speeded  well. 

\_^E3iit  Friar. 
Enter  Vakrius. 

Buke.     I  thank  thee,  Varrius  ;  thou  hast  made  good 
haste. 
Come,  we  will  walk  :    there's  other  of  our  friends 
Will  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. 

Street  near  the  City  Gate. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 

Isah.     To  speak  so  indirectly,  I  am  loath  : 
I  would  say  the  truth ;    but  to  accuse  him  so. 
That  is  your  part ;    yet  I'm  advis'd  to  do  it, 
He  says,  to  veil  full  purpose. 

Mari.  Be  rul'd  by  him. 

Isab.     Besides,  he  tells  me,  that  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;    for  'tis  a  physic. 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

Mari.     I  would,  Friar  Peter  — 

Isab.  O,  peace  !  the  Friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar   Peter. 

F.  Peter.     Come  ;    I  have  found  you  out  a  stand 

most  fit. 
Where  you  may  have  such  vantage  on  the  Duke, 
He  shall   not  pass    you.     Twice    have    the    trumpets 

sounded : 


sc.  I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  89 

The  generous  and  gravest  citizens 

Have  hent  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 

The  Duke  is  ent'ring  :    therefore  hence,  away. 

l^Exeunt. 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I. — A  public  Place  near  the  City  Gate. 

Enter,  severally,  Duke,  Vakrius,  and  Attendant. 
Lords,  Angelo,  Escaltjs,  Lucio,  Provost,  Offi- 
cers, and  Citizens.  During  their  interview,  enter 
Mariaxa,  (veiled,)  Isabella,  and  Friar  Petek, 
at  a  distance. 


M 


Duke. 

Y  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met :  — 


Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see 
you. 
Ang.  and  Escal.     Happy  return  be  to  your  Royal 

Grace  ! 
Duke.     Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you ;    and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  forth  to  you  public  thanks. 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

Ang.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Duke.     O,  your  desert  speaks  loud  ;  and  I  should 
wrong  it, 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom. 
When  it  deserves  with  characters  of  brass 
A  forted  residence  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time. 
And  razure  of  oblivion.     Give  me  your  hand, 


90       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  v. 

And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  would  fain  proclaim 
Favours  that  keep  within.  —  Come,  Escalus, 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  our  other  hand ; 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

Friar  Peter  and  Isabella  come  forward. 

F.  Peter.     Now    is    your    time.     Speak    loud,  and 
kneel  before  him. 

Isab.     Justice,  0  Eoyal  Duke  !     Vail  your  regard 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I  would  fain  have  said,  a  maid  ! 
O  worthy  Prince  !  dishonour  not  your  eye 
By  throwing  it  on  any  other  object, 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint. 
And  given  me  justice.     Justice  !   justice  !   justice  ! 

Duke.     Relate  your  wrongs  :    in  what  ?  by  whom  ? 
Be  brief. 
Here  is  Lord  Angelo  shall  give  you  justice  : 
Eeveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isab.  O,  worthy  Duke  ! 

You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  Devil. 
Hear  me  yourself;    for  that  which  I  must  speak 
Must  either  punish  me,  not  being  believ'd. 
Or  wring  redress  from  you.    Hear  me,  O,  hear  me,  here  ! 

Ang.     My  lord,  her  wits,  I  fear  me,  are  not  firm : 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brother, 
Cut  o£F  by  course  of  justice. 

Isab.  By  course  of  justice  ! 

Ang.    And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly,  and  strange. 

Isab.    Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I  speak. 
That  Angelo's  forsworn ;  —  is  it  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo's  a  murtherer  ;  —  is't  not  strange? 
That  Angelo  is  an  adulterous  thief. 
An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator  ;  — 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  strange  r 


sc.   I.  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE.  91 

Buke.  Nay,  it  is  ten  times  strange. 

Isah.     It  is  not  truer  he  is  Angelo, 
Than  this  is  all  as  true  as  it  is  strange : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true  ;    for  truth  is  truth 
To  th'  end  of  reck'ning. 

Buke.  Away  with  her.  —  Poor  soul  I 

She  speaks  this  in  th'  infirmity  of  sense. 

Isah.     O  Prince,  I  conjure  thee,  as  thou  believ'st 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world. 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion 
That  I  am  touch' d  with  madness :    make  not  impos- 
sible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike.     'Tis  not  impossible. 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  caitiff  on  the   ground. 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute, 
As  Angelo ;    even  so  may  Angelo, 
In  all  his  dressings,  characts,  titles,  forms. 
Be  an  arch-villain.     Believe  it.  Royal  Prince : 
If  he  be  less,  he's  nothing  ;    but  he's  more, 
Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Buke.  By  mine  honesty, 

If  she  be  mad,  as  I  believe  no  other, 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense,  — 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing, — 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O,  gracious  Duke  ! 

Harp  not  on  that,  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality ;    but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid. 
And  hide  .the  false  seems  true. 

Buke.  Many  that  are  not  mad, 

Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason. — What  would  you 
say? 

Isab.     I  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication 


92       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE    ACT  V. 

To  lose  his  head ;    condemn' d  by  Angelo. 
I,  in  probation  of  a  Sisterhood, 
Was  sent  to  by  my  brother,  —  one  Lucio 
As  then  the  messenger  — 

Lucio.  That's  I,  an't  like  your  Grace. 

I  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desir'd  her 
To  try  her  gracious  fortune  with  Lord  Angelo, 
For  her  poor  brother's  pardon. 

Isab.  That's  he,  indeed. 

Duke.     You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord, 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  you  now,  then : 

Pray  you,  take  note  of  it ;  and  when  you  have 
A  business  for  yourself,  pray  Heaven  you  then 
Be  perfect. 

Lucio.     I  warrant  your  honour. 

Duke.     The  warrant's  for  yourself:   take  heed  to  it. 

Isah.     This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  tale. 

Lucio.    Right. 

Duke.     It  may  be  right ;   but  you  are  i'  the  wrong 
To  speak  before  your  time. — Proceed. 

Isah.  I  went 

To  this  pernicious,  caitiff  Deputy. 

Duke.     That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

Isab.  Pardon  it : 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 

Duke.     Mended  again  :    the  matter  ?  —  Proceed. 

Isab.     In  brief,  —  to  set  the  needless  process  by. 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd  and  kneel'd. 
How  he  rcfell'd  me,  and  how  I  repli'd, 
(For  this  was  of  much  length,)  —  the  vile  conclusion 
I  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter. 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust. 


I 


sc.   I.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  93 

Release  my  brother ;   and,  after  mucli  debatement, 

My  sisterly  remorse  confutes  mine  honour, 

And  I  did  yield  to  him.     But  the  next  morn  betimes, 

His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 

For  my  poor  brother's  head. 

Duke.  This  is  most  likely. 

Isah.      O,  that  it  were  as  like  as  it  is   true  ! 

Duke.     By  Heaven,  fond  wretch  !  thou  know'st  not 
what  thou  speak'st. 
Or  else  thou  art  suborn' d  against  his  honour, 
In  hateful  practice.     First,  his  integrity 
Stands  without  blemish  ;   next,  it  imports  no  reason, 
That  with  such  vehemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:    if  he  had  so  offended. 
He  would  have  weigh' d  thy  brother  by  himself. 
And  not  have  cut  him  off.     Some   one  hath  set  you 

on : 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complain. 

Isab.  And  is  this  all  ? 

Then,  O  !   you  blessed  ministers  above. 
Keep  me  in  patience  ;   and,  with  ripened  time, 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapp'd  up 
In   countenance  !  —  Heaven    shield    your   Grace   from 

woe, 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go ! 

Duke.    I  know,  you'd  fain  be  gone.  —  An  officer  !  — 
To  prison  with  her  !  —  Shall  we  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  him  so  near  us  ?     This  needs  must  be  a  practice. 
Who  knew  of  your  intent,  and  coming  hither  ? 

Isah.     One  that  I  would  were  here.  Friar  Lodowick. 

Duke.     A    ghostly   Father,    belike.  —  Who    knows 
that  Lodowick  ? 

Lucio.    My  lord,  I  know  him  :  'tis  a  meddling  friar  ; 


k 


94       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    act  t. 

I  do  not  like  the  man  :    had  he  been  lay,  my  lord, 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  Grace 
In  your  retirement,  I  had  swing' d  him  soundly. 

Duke.    Words  against  me  ?     This  '  a  good  friar,  be- 
like ! 
And  to  set  on  this  wretched  woman  here 
Against  our  substitute !  —  Let  this  friar  be  found. 

Lucio.    But  yesternight,  my  lord,  she  and  that  friar — 
I  saw  them  at  the  prison.     A  saucy  friar, 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

F.  Peter.  Blessed  be  your  Royal  Grace ! 

I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abus'd.     First,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accus'd  your   substitute, 
Who  is  as  free  from  touch  or  soil  with  her, 
As  she  from  one  ungot. 

Duke.  We  did  believe  no  less. 

Know  you  that  Friar  Lodowick,  that  she  speaks  of? 

F.  Peter.     I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy ; 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler, 
As  he's  reported  by  this  gentleman ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet 
Did,  as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  Grace. 

Lucio.     My  lord,  most  villainously  :    believe  it. 

F.  Peter.     Well,   he    in    time   may  come    to    clear 
himself, 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord, 
Of  a  strange  fever.     Upon  his  mere  request. 
Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there  was    complaint 
Intended  'gainst  Lord  Angelo,  came  I  hither. 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  what  he  doth  know 
Is  true,  and  false  ;   and  what  he  with  his  oath, 
And  all  probation,  will  make  up  full  clear. 
Whensoever  he's  conventcd.     First,  for  this  woman  : 
To  justify  this   worthy  nobleman, 


sc.   I.  MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE.  95 

So  vulgarly  and  personally  accus'd, 

Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes, 

Till  she  herself  confess  it. 

Duke.  Good  Friar,  let's  hear  it. 

[Isabella  is  carried  off  guarded  ;  and 
Mariana  comes  forward. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  Lord  Angelo  ?  — 

0  Heaven,  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools  !  — 
Give  us  some  seats.  —  Come,  cousin  Angelo  ; 
In  this  I'll  be  impartial  :    be  you  judge 

Of  your  own  cause.  —  Is  this  the  witness.  Friar  ? 
First  let  her  shew  her  face,  and  after  speak. 

Mari.     Pardon,  my  lord,  I  will  not  shew  my  face 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 

Duke.  What,  are  you  married  ? 

Mari.     No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Are  you  a  maid  ? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.     A  widow,  then  ? 

Mari.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Why,  you 

Are  nothing,  then  :    neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife  ? 

Lucia.     My  lord,  she    may  be  a  punk  ;    for  many 
of  them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife. 

Duke.     Silence  that  fellow :   I  would  he  had  some 
cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.     Well,  my  lord. 

Mari.     My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married ; 
And,  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid : 

1  have  known  my  husband,  yet  my  husband  knows 

not 
That  ever  he  knew  me. 

Lucio.     He  was  drunk,  then,  my  lord  :   it  can  be 
no  better. 


96       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE,   ACT  V. 

Duke.  For  the  benefit  of  silence,  'would  thou  wert 
so  too ! 

Lucio.     Well,  my  lord. 

Duke.     This  is  no  witness  for  Lord  Angelo. 

Mari.     Xow  I  come  to't,  my  lord. 
She  that  accuses  him  of  fornication, 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband ; 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time 
When,  I'll  depose,  I  had  him  in  mine   arms 
With  all  th'  eflFect  of  love. 

Aug.  Charges  she  more  than  me  r 

Mari.     Not  that  I  know. 

Duke.  No  ?  —  you  say  your  husband  ? 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord ;  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks,  he  knows  that  he  ne'er  knew  my  body, 
But  knows,  he  thinks,  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Ang.     This    is    a   strange    abuse. — Let's    see   thy 
face. 

Mari.     INIy  husband  bids  me :   now  I  will  unmask. 
This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Angelo, 
Which  once,  thou  swor'st,  was  worth  the  looking  on : 
This  is  the  hand  which,  with  a  vow'd  contract, 
Was  fast  belock'd  in  thine :    this  is  the  body 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house 
In  her  imagin'd  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman? 

Lucio.     Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more. 

Lucio.     Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.    My  lord,  I  must  confess  I  know  this  woman ; 
And,  five  years  since,  there  was  some  speech  of  mar- 
riage 
Betwixt  myself  and  her,  which  was  broke  off". 
Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 


sc.   I.  MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE.  97 

\*7ame  short  of  composition  ;    but,  in  chief, 
For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity  :    since  which  time  of  five  years 
I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  her, 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mari.  Noble  Prince, 

As   there   comes   light  from  heaven,  and  words  from 

breath, 
As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  affianc'd  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows  :    and,  my  good  lord 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in's  garden-house. 
He  knew  me  as  a  wife.     As  this  is  true 
Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees. 
Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument. 

A7ig.  I  did  but  smile  till  now  : 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice  ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch' d.     I  do  perceive 
These  poor  informal  women  are  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member. 
That  sets  them  on.      Let  me  have  way,  my  lord. 
To  find  this  practice  out. 

Duke.  Ay,  with  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  [un]to  your  height  of  pleasure.  — 
Thou  foolish  friar,  and  thou  pernicious  woman. 
Compact    with    her    that's    gone,    think' st    thou    thy 

oaths, 
Though  they  would  swear  down  each  particular  saint. 
Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit. 
That's  sealed  in  approbation  ?  —  You,  Lord  Escalus, 
Sit  with  my  cousin  :    lend  him  your  kind  pains 
To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  deriv'd.  — 
There  is  another  friar  that  set  them  on  : 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

voi,.   in.  G 


98       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    act  v. 

F.  Peter.     Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  ;   for  he, 
indeed. 
Hath  set  the  women  on  to  this  complaint. 
Your  Provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides. 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.     Go,  do  it  instantly.  —  \_Exit  Provost. 

And  you,  my  noble  and  well-warranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth, 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best. 
In  any  chastisement :    I,  for  a  while. 
Will  leave  you ;  but  stir  not  you,  till  you  have  well 
Determined  upon  these  slanderers. 

Escal.  My  lord,  we'll  do  it  throughly.  —  [_Exit. 
Duke.]  Signior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you  knew 
that  Friar  Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest  person  ? 

Lucio.  CiicuUus  71071  facit  monachiwi :  honest  in 
nothing,  but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath  spoke 
most  villainous  speeches  of  the  Duke. 

Escal.  We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he 
come,  and  enforce  them  against  him.  We  shall  find 
this  friar  a  notable  fellow. 

Lucio.     As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again  :  [  To 
an  Attendant. ~\  I  would  speak  with  her.  Pray  you, 
my  lord,  give  me  leave  to  question  ;  you  shall  see 
how  I'll  handle  her. 

Lucio.     Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Escal.     Say  you  ? 

Lucio.  Marry,  sir,  I  think  if  you  handled  her 
privately  she  would  sooner  confess  :  perchance,  pub- 
licly she'll  be  asham'd. 

Enter    Officers,    with    Isabella,    the    Duke,    in    a 
Friar's  hahit,  and  Provost. 

Escal.     I   will  go  darkly  to   work  with  her. 


sc.   I.  MEASTRE    FOR    MEASURE.  99 

Lucio.     That's  the  way  ;    for   women   are   light   at 
midnight. 

Escal.     Come  on,  mistress.    [To  Isabella.]   Here's 
a  gentlewoman  denies  all  that  you  have  said. 

Lucio.     My   lord,   here    comes   the   rascal   I   spoke 
of;    here,  with  the  Provost. 

Escal.     In  very   good   time  :  —  speak   not    you   to 
him,  till  we  call  upon  you. 

Lucio.     Mum. 

Escal.     Come,  sir.     Did  you  set  these  women  on 
to  slander  Lord  Angelo  ?   they  have  confess' d  you  did. 

Duke.     'Tis  false. 

Escal.    How !   know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Duke.     Respect   to   your   great  place  !    and  let  the 
Devil 
Be  sometime  honour' d  for  his  burning  throne.  — 
Where  is  the  Duke  ?    'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.     The  Duke's   in  us,  and  we  will  hear   you 
speak  : 
Look  you  speak  justly. 

Duke.  Boldly,  at  least.  —  But,  O,  poor  souls  ! 

Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  fox? 
Good  night  to  your  redress.      Is  the  Duke  gone  ? 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.     The  Duke's  unjust, 
Thus  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal, 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth 
Which  here  you  come  to  accuse. 

Lucio.     This  is  the  rascal  :    this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Escal.     Why,     thou    unreverend    and    unhallow'd 
friar  ! 
Is't  not  enough,  thou  hast  suborn' d  these  women 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man,  but,  in  foul  mouth. 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear. 
To  call  him  villain  ?    and  then  to  glance  from  him 
To  th'  Duke  himself,  to  tax  him  with  injustice? 


100      MEASURE  FOE  MEASURE,    ACT  v. 

Take  him   hence ;    to    the   rack    with    him  :  —  We'll 

touze  you 
Joint  by  joint  but  we  will  know  his  purpose. — 
What  !    unjust  ? 

Duke.  Be  not  so  hot  ;    the  Duke  dare 

No  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine  than  he 
Dare  rack  his  own  :    his  subject  am  I  not, 
Nor  here  provincial.     My  business  in  this  State 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna, 
Where  1  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble 
Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew  :    hiws  for  all  faults. 
But  faults   so   countenanc'd   that   the   strong   statutes 
Stand,  like   the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop. 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.     Slander  to  the  State  !     Away  with  him  to 
prison. 

Ang.     What   can   you  vouch  against   him,   Signior 
Lucio  ? 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of  ? 

Lucio.  'Tis  he,  my  lord.  —  Come  hither,  goodman 
bald-pate  :    do  you  know  me  ? 

Duke.  I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your 
voice  :  I  met  you  at  the  prison,  in  the  absence  of  the 
Duke. 

Lucio.  O  !  did  you  so  ?  And  do  you  remember 
what  you  said  of  the  Duke  ? 

Duke.     Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio.  Do  you  so,  sir  ?  And  was  the  Duke  a  flesh- 
monger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  reported 
him  to  be  ? 

Duke.  You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  mc,  ere 
you  make  that  my  report  :  you,  indeed,  spoke  so  of 
him  :   and  much  more,  much  worse. 

Lucio.  O,  thou  damnable  fellow  !  Did  not  I  pluck 
thee  by  the  nose,  for  thy  speeches  ? 


SC.  I.     MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.      101 

Duke.     I  protest,  I  love  the  Duke  as  I  love  myself. 

Ang.  Hark  how  the  villain  Vi^ould  glose  now,  after 
his  treasonable  abuses. 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talk'd  withal  :  — 
Away  with  him  to  prison.  —  Where  is  the  Provost  r  — 
Away  with  him  to  prison.  Lay  bolts  enough  upon 
him  ;  let  him  speak  no  more.  —  Away  with  those  gig- 
lots  too,  and  with  the  other  confederate  companion. 
[_The  Provost  lays  hand  on  the  Duke. 

Duke.     Stay,  sir ;    stay  a  while. 

Ang.     What !    resists  he  ?     Help  him,  Lucio. 

Lucio,  Come,  sir  ;  come,  sir  ;  come,  sir  ;  foh  !  sir. 
Why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  you  must  be  hood- 
ed, must  you  ?  Shew  your  knave's  visage  with  a  pox 
to  you  !  shew  your  sheep-biting  face,  and  be  hang'd 
an  hour.     Will't  not  off? 

[Pulls  off  the  Friar's  hood. 

Duke.     Thou  art  the  first  knave,  that  e'er  mad'st 
a  duke.  — 
First,  Provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three.  — 
Sneak  not  away,  sir;   \_To  Lucio.]  for  the  Friar  and 

you 
Must  have  a  word  anon.  —  Lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.     This  may  prove  worse  than  hanging. 

Duke.     What   you  have  spoke,  I  pardon  ;    sit  you 
down.  \_To  EscALUs. 

We'll  borrow  place  of  him  :  —  Sir,  by  your  leave. 

\_The  Duke  takes  Angelo's  seat. 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence, 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ?     If  thou  hast. 
Rely  upon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard, 
And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Ang.  O,  my  dread  lord  ! 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness, 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible, 


102      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    act  t. 

When  I  perceive  your  Grace,  like  power  divine, 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes :    Then,  good  Prince, 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame, 
But  let  my  trial  be  mine  own  confession : 
Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent  death. 
Is  all  the  grace  I  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana.  — 

Say,  Avast  thou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman  ? 

A7ig.     I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Go  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  instant- 
ly.- 
Do  you  the  office,  Friar  ;    which  consummate, 
Return  him  here  again.  —  Go  with  him.   Provost. 

[_Exeunt  Angelo,  Mariaxa,  Friar  Peter, 
and  Provost. 

Escal.     My   lord,    I    am    more   amaz'd   at   his    dis- 
honour. 
Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Isabel. 

Your  Friar  is  now  your  Prince  :    as  I  was  then 
Advertising  and  holy  to  your  business. 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attorney'd  at  your  service. 

Isah.  O,  give  me  pardon. 

That  I,  your  vassal,  have  employ'd  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty  ! 

Duke.  You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel  : 

Anil  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart; 
And  you  may  marvel  why  I  obscur'd  myself, 
Labouring  to  save  his  life,  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power. 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost.     O,  most  kind  maid ! 
It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death. 
Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on, 


sc.  I.     MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.      103 

That  brain'd  my  purpose  :    but,  peace  be  with  him  I 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing   death. 
Than  that  which   lives   to  fear.     Make  it  your   com- 
fort, 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Enter  Angelo,   Mariana,   Peter,   and   Provost. 

Isdb.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke.     For    this    new-married    man,    approaching 
here, 
Whose  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong' d 
Your  well-defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For    Mariana's    sake.      But,    as    he    adjudg'd    your 

brother, 
(Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 
Of  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach. 
Thereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life,) 
The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out, 
Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue, 
'  An  Angelo  for  Claudio,  death  for  death  ! ' 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers   leisure, 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  Measure,  still,  for  Measure. 
Then,  Angelo,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested. 
Which,  though  thou  would'st  deny,  denies  thee  van- 
tage. 
We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 
Where    Claudio    stoop' d    to    death,    and    with    like 

haste.  — 
Away  with  him. 

Mori.    •  O,  my  most  gracious  lord ! 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband. 
Duke.     It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a  hus- 
band. 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;    else  imputation. 


104      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  V. 

For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life, 
And    choke    your    good    to    come.      For    his    posses- 
sions, 
Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ours, 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal, 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O,  my  dear  lord! 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke.     Never  crave  him  :   we  are  definitive. 

Mari.     Gentle  my  liege,  —  \_Kneeling. 

Duke.  You  do  but  lose  your  labour. 

Away  with   him    to    death.  —  Now,  sir,   \_to  Lucig.] 
to  you. 

Mari.      O,  my  good  lord  !  —  Sweet  Isabel,  take  my 
part : 
Lend  me  your  knees ;    and,  all  my  life  to  come, 
Fll  lend  you  all  my  life  to  do  you  service. 

Duke.     Against  all  sense  you  do  importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  this  fact, 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break, 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mari.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me  : 
Hold  up  your  hands  :    say  nothing ;    I'll  speak  all. 
They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults, 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the   better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :    so  may  my  husband. 
O  Isabel !   will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ?  '' 

Duke.     He'  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

Isah.  Most  bounteous  sir, 

\^Kneeling. 
Look,   if  it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemn"d. 
As  if  my  brother  liv'd.      I  jiartly  think 
A  due  sincerity  govern' d  his   deeds 
Till  he  did  look  on  me  :    since  it  is  so. 


sc.  I.     MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.      105 

Let  him  not  die.     My  brother  had  but  justice, 
In  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  di'd  : 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent ; 
And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 
That    perish'd    by  the  way.     Thoughts    are    no    sub- 
jects — 
Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 

Mari.  Merely,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Your  suit's  unprofitable  :  stand  up,  I  say.  — 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault.  — 
Provost,  how  came  it  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour  ? 

Prov.  It  was  commanded  so. 

Duke.     Had  you  a  special  warrant  for   the   deed  r 

Prov.     No,  my  good  lord ;   it  was  by  private  mes- 
sage. 

Duke.     For   which    I    do    discharge    you    of    your 
office  : 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  Lord  : 

I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not, 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice  ; 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison. 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have   di'd, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he? 

Prov.  His  name  is  Barnardine. 

Duke.     I  would  thou  hadst  done  so  by  Claudio.  — 
Go,  fetch  him  hither  :    let  me  look  upon  him. 

l^Exit  Provost. 

Escal.     I  am  sorry  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you.  Lord  Angelo,  have  still  appear'd. 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  afterward. 

g2 


106      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    ACT  v. 

Ang.     I  am  sorry  that  such  sorrow  I  procure ; 
And  so'  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart, 
That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy : 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Enter  Provost,  Barnardine,  Cxaudio,  and  Juliet. 

Duke.     Which  is  that  Barnardine  ? 

Prov.  This,  my  lord. 

Duke.     There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man.  — 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul, 
That  apprehends  no  farther  than  this  world. 
And  squar'st  thy  life  according.     Thou'rt  condemn'd ; 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all. 
And  pray  thee,  take  this   mercy  to  provide 
For  better  times  to  come.  —  Friar,  advise  him  : 
I  leave  him  to  your  hand.  —  What  muffled   fellow's 
that? 

Prov.     This  is  another  prisoner  that  I  sav'd, 
That  should  have  di'd  when  Claudio  lost  his  head. 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio  as  himself. 

[  Umnuffles  Claudio. 

Duke.     If  he  be  like  your  brother,  [to  Isabella.] 
for  his  sake 
Is  he  pardon' d ;   and  for  your  lovely  sake 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine : 
He  is  my  brother  too.  —  But  fitter  time  for  that. 
By  this  Lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe : 
Methinks  I  see  a  quick'ning  in  his  eye.  — 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits  you  well  : 
Look    that    you    love    your    wife  ;    her   worth,    worth 

yours.  — 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself, 
And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon.  — 
You,  sirrah,  [to  Lucio.]    that    knew  me    for  a   fool, 
a  coward. 


sc.  I.     MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.      107 

One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman : 
Wherein  have  I  so  deserved  of  you, 
That  you  extol  me  thus  ? 

Lucio.  'Faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according 
to  the  trick.  If  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  may ; 
but  I  had  rather  it  would  please  you,  I  might  be 
whipp'd. 

Duke.     Whipp'd  first,  sir,  and  hang'd   after.  — 
Proclaim  it.  Provost,  round  about  the  city, 
If  any  woman's  wrong'd  by  this  lewd  fellow, 
(As  I  have  heard  him  swear  himself  there's  one 
Whom  he  begot  with  child,)  let  her  appear, 
And  he  shall  marry  her  :    the  nuptial  finished, 
Let  him  be  whipp'd  and  hang'd. 

Lucio.  I  beseech  your  Highness,  do  not  marry  me 
to  a  whore  !  Your  Highness  said  even  now  I  made 
you  a  duke  :  good  my  lord,  do  not  recompense  me 
in  making  me  a  cuckold. 

Duke.     Upon  mine  honour  thou  shalt  marry  her. 
Thv  slanders  I  forgive :   and  therewithal 
Remit  thy  other  forfeits.  —  Take  him  to  prison, 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 

Lucio.  Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to 
death,  whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke.     Slandering  a  Prince  deserves  it.  — 
She,  Claudio,  that  you  wrong'd,  look  you  restore.  — 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana !  —  love  her,  Angelo  : 
I  have  confess' d  her,  and  I  know  her  virtue.  — 
Thanks,    good    friend    Escalus,    for    thy  much    good- 
ness.: 
There's  more  behind  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  Provost,  for  thy  care,  and  secrecy ; 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place.  — 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 


108  MEASURE   FOR    MEASURE.      ACT   v. 

The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's  : 
Th'  offence  pardons  itself.  —  Dear  Isabel, 
I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 
Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline, 
What's  mine  is  yours,  and  what  is  yours  is  mine.  — 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace ;   where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind  that's  meet  you  all  should  know. 

[_Exeunt.. 


NOTES  ON  MEASURE  FOR 
MEASURE. 


ACT    FIRST. 


Scene  I. 

p.  13.  "  Since  I  am  put  to  know  "  :  —  Since  I  am  constrained 
to  know  —  must  needs  know.  So,  in  this  play,  Act  III. 
Sc.  2  :  "I  am  made  to  understand  :  "  also, 

"  Though  for  possession  put  to  try  once  more." 

Paradise  Lost,  IV.  942. 
The  expression  can  hardly  need  explanation  or  illustration. 

'  " then  no  more  remains 

But  that,  to  your  sufficiency,  —  as  your  worth  is  able,  — 
And  let  them  work." 

This  is  the  original  text,  with  the  mere  substitution  of 
the  dash,  which  we  now  use  for  the  comma  in  quasi  paren- 
thetical passages  ;  and  it  plainly  means,  —  merely  putting 
the  words  in  their  conversational  order,  and  remembering 
"that,"  as  a  relative,  to  be  the  emphatic  word;  —  "  then, 
as  youi-  worth  is  able,  no  more  remains  to  your  sufficiency 
but  that ;  "  &c.  A  paraphrase  will  remove  any  difficulty 
which  may  yet  possibly  be  found  in  the  sentence  :  —  "  then, 
as  your  worth  is  able  [i.  e.,  yovu-  high  chtu-acter  rendering 
you  competent,]  no  more  remains  to  your  sufficiency  [i.  e., 
no  more  is  wanting  to  complete  your  capacity  for  the  ful- 
filment of  your  trust,]  but  that  [i.  e.,  that  knowledge  of 
government  of  which  I  have  just  spoken  ;]  and  let  them 
[i.  e.  that  knowledge  and  your  Avorth]  work  [together]." 

This  passage  has  been  thought  very  obsciu'e  by  most  edi- 
tors and  commentators,  and  by  many  has  been  pronounced 
corrupt ;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  latter  supposi- 
tion would  be  favored  by  the  redundancy  of  the  second 
line,  were  not  the  versification  of  this  play  so  exceedingly 
irregular.  But  had  it  not  been  for  confusing  changes  and 
comments,  the  supposed  obscurity  of  the  passage  would 

(109) 


110      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.    act  i. 


doubtless  have  long  since  disappeared  ;  and  it  would  have 
been  seen  that  the  original  folio,  wlaich  has  hitherto  been 
departed  from  by  all  editors  without  exception,  is  correct 
in  placing  no  point  after  "  remains "  and  a  comma  after 
"  that."  For  the  phiase  "no  more  remains  to  your  suffi- 
ciency," as  meaning  'no  more  is  wanting  to,  or  for,  your 
completeness,'  could  not  have  presented  the  slightest  ditti- 
culty  to  any  intelligent  person  acquainted  with  the  English 
idiom ;  and  as  to  what  the  relative  "  that  "  refers,  there  can 
of  course  be  no  dispute. 

Rowe,  with  whom  the  present  editor  was  inclined  to  con- 
cur before  he  had  carefully  examined  the  original,  read,  — 

"  then  no  more  remains  : 
Put  that  to  your  sufficiency,"  &c. 
He  was  followed  by  Pope,  Theobald,  and  Warburton.     Biit 
Theobald  thought  that  a  Une  had  been  omitted,  and  pro- 
posed to  complete  the  sense,  thus :  — 

"then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency  you  add 
Diie  diligency,  as  your  worth  is  able,"  &c. 
Hanmer  attempted  to  do  the  same,  in  this  manner,  in  liis 
text :  — 

"  then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency  you  join 
A  will  to  serve  us,  as  your  worth,"  &c. 
Johnson  restored  "  But  "  of  the  original,  for  Rowe's  "  Pitt" 
but  left  his  mischief-making  colon  ;  and,  stQl  thinking  the 
passage  coiTupt,  "suspected"  that  Shakespeare  wrote, 

"  then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiencies  your  worth  is  abled,"  &c. 
Capell  did  not  change  the  words  of  the  original,  but  helped 
to  fix  the  prevailing  misconception,  by  removing  the  com- 
ma after  "that"  and  placing  one  after  "remains."  In  the 
Vnrlormn  Edition  (Boswell's  Mahne,  21  vols.,  1821,)  the 
original  text  is  given,  but  in  seeming  despair,  as  it  is  left  to 
be  obscured  lor  the  reader  by  the  comments  variorum,  — 
the  decision  of  Malone,  Steevens,  and  Tyrvvhitt,  that  two 
half  lines  are  lost,  being  added  to  the  conjectures  already 
enumerated.  Mr.  Singer  reads,  "  But  thereto  your  suffi- 
ciency ;  "  Mr.  Ilalliwcll,  on  the  authority  of  an  old  MS. 
note,  "  But  task  to  yoiu"  sufficic^cc ; "  and  various  other 
futile  attempts,  which  need  not  be  particularly  refen-ed  to, 
have  been  made,  to  amend  or  explain  what,  after  all,  needs 
no  emendation,  and  little,  if  any,  explanation. 

13.       " the  terms  :"  — The  "terms  for  common  justice" 

were  the  forms  and  technical  phrases  of  the  law.  Shake- 
speare may  possibly  have  had  the  Termes  de  la  Ley,  wTitteu 


SC.    I. 


NOTES.  Ill 


in  Henry  VIII.'s  time,  in  his  mind,  as  Blackstone  suggests ; 
but  that  is  a  mere  book  of  definitions,  438  in  number,  in 
English  and  that  distracting  hodgepodge.  Law  French. 

p.  14.  "  There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life, 

That,  to  th'  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold." 
Notes  incomprehensibly  from  the  purpose  having  been 
written  upon  this  simple  passage  by  such  men  as  Johnson, 
Steevens,  Mason,  &c.,  one  may  be  pardoned  for  pointuig  out 
that  the  Duke  merely  says  to  A/igeh,  '  the  character  of  your 
present  life  shows  what  your  past  life  must  have  been.' 

;  " as  to  waste 

Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  theij  on  thee." 
This  is  the  original  text,  which  has  been  hitherto  changed 
by  reading  "  them  on  thee."     But  the  origmal  is  an  elUpsis 
for  "  they  [to  waste  themselves]  on  thee."     The  passage  is 
far  from  being  strictly  grammatical. 

"         '< nor  Nature  never  lends  "  :  —  Shakespeare  very 

frequently  uses  two  negatives  with  the  force  of  one,  in  spite 
of  the  grammatical  laws  which  prevailed  no  less  in  his  day 
than  in  ours  ;  as  we  learn,  for  instance,  from  Sidney's  Son- 
net upon  his  mistress  saying  "  No,  no,"  to  him. 
"  But  Grammars  force  with  sweet  success  confirm. 
For  Grammar  sayes  (O,  this  dear  Stella  say  !) 
For  Grammar  sayes  (to  Grammar  who  sayes  nay  r) 
That  in  one  speech  two  Negatives  affirm." 

Astrophel  and  Stella,  63. 
"Was  Shakespeare  consciously  following  classical  precedent  ? 

"         "  Hold  therefore,  Angelo,  [our  place  and  power  :]  " 

The  original  has  only  "Hold,  therefore,  Angelo:  "  the 
efforts  to  explain  which  imperfect  hne  have  been  equally 
various  and  futile.  Johnson  would  have  it  mean  '  Continue 
to  be  Anqeh,'  an  exegesis  too  absurd  to  merit  further  atten- 
tion. Hanmer  and  Steevens  suppose  the  Duke  to  tell  An- 
gelo to  take  hold  of  his  commission,  the  former  introducing 
a  corresponding  stage  direction :  a  conjectiu-e  how  lucUcrous, 
let  every  reader  determine  for  himself  by  imagining  the 
Duke  to  extend  a  roll  of  parchment  to  Angelo,  crying 
« Hold.! '  —  for  these  plays  were  -vmtten  to  be  played.  Tyr- 
whitt  thinks  that  the  Duke  addresses  '  Hold '  to  himself, 
and  that  there  should  be  a  full  jwint  after  '  therefore,'  and 
none  after  '  Ayigelo ; '  but  it  will  be  generally  admitted  that 
there  is  no  occasion  for  what  the  elder  Mr.  Welkr  would 
call  such  a  verv  "  sudden  pull  up "  on  the  Duke's  part.  Mr. 
Halhwell  would  sustain  Hanmer  and  Steevens  by  quoting 
FaUtaff's  "Hold,  sirrah,"   when  he  gives  his  letters  to 


112  MEASTRE   FOR  MEASURE.  act  i. 

Robin  {Mcrnj  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Sc.  3.)  But  Fal- 
staff  uses  the  word  there  merelj-  as  an  equivalent  to  '  stay.' 
as  not  only  appeal's  by  the  context,  but  by  the  correspond- 
ing line  in  the  quarto,  where  he  says,  "  Stay,  sirrah."  This 
intransitive  sense  (if  we  except  that  of  '  keep  your  appoint- 
ment,' which  is  hardly  an  exception)  being  the  only  oiie 
which  the  word  ever  has  when  used  in  the  imperative  mood 
absolutely  and  alone,  the  words  to  which  "Hold"  refers 
have,  without  a  doubt,  been  lost,  as  we  know  is  the  case  with 
others  in  both  the  first  and  second  folios.  The  sense  which 
those  words  conveyed  is  shown  by  the  context ;  but  by  the 
Duke's  remark  to  Friar  Thomas,  when,  in  the  next  Scene 
but  one,  he  speaks  of  the  very  act  performed  in  this,  we  may 
be  said  to  learn  what  they  actually  were,  from  Shakespeare 
himself.     The  Duke  says, 

"  I  have  deliver'd  to  Lord  Angelo 
(A  man  of  stricture  and  firm  abstinence) 
My  absolute  ^ower  and  place  here  in  Vienna." 
It  has  been  necessary  in  several  instances  for  previous  edir 
tors  to  supply  lost  words,  which  have  been  received  into  the 
text ;  but  it  is  submitted  that  there  was  never  greater  need 
of  such  emendation  than  the  present,  and  that  there  could 
not  be  better  warrant  for  the  words  supplied  than  there  is 
for  those  which  appear  within  brackets  in  the  present  text. 

p.  15.       " shall  im^jortime  "  :  —  In  this  line  "  importune," 

like  "advertise"  a  Uttle  before,  and  "contract"  shortly 
after,  is  accented  on  the  second  syllabic.  It  would  be 
tedious  and  superfluous  to  point  out  all  similar  licenses  and 
variations  from  modern  custom  :  the  reader's  ear  will  de- 
tect, and  his  judgnient  account  for  or  excuse,  them. 

Scene  II. 

p.  17.       " there  went  but  a  pair  of  shears  between  us  "  :  — 

i.  e.,  we  were  both  of  a  piece. 

as  be  pil'd,  as  thou  art  pil'd,  for  a  French  velvet ' 


—  This  is  a  quibbling  allusion  to  the  pile  of  velvet  and 
losing  the  hair,  or  being  pil'd,  —  one  of  the  results  of  what 
was  in  Shakespeare's  day  called  '  the  French  disease.' 

"  I  have  purchas'd  as  many  diseases,"  &c. :  —  This  ap- 
pears as  part  of  Lucio's  speech  in  the  original,  owing  to  the 
neglect  of  the  comjwsitor,  or  perhajis  the  autlior  or  cojjj-ist, 
to  prefix  the  proper  name  to  it.  The  subsequent  dialogue 
shows  plainly  both  that  it  does  not  belong  to  Lticio  and  tliat 
it  does  belong  to  the  \st  Gcntkman. 

" three  thousand  dolours"  :  —  Thus  the  original. 


bC.    III.  NOTES.  113 

which  it  has  been  the  priictice  to  change  to  '  dollars,'  and 
thus  make  explanation  necessary  for  an  otherwdse  patent 
pun. 

p.  17.  "A  French  crotcn  more  "  :  —  Another  of  those  allusions 
so  common  with  Shakespeare  and  all  our  old  dramatists,  to 
the  eUcct  of  that '  French  disease '  which  was  yet  supposed  to 
have  been  brought  to  Europe  from  the  Indians  of  America. 

p  18.  " the  sweat  "  :  —  The  sweating  sickness,  —  a  pesti- 
lence wliich  prevailed  about  the  time  when  this  play  was 
■v^Titten. 

p,  19.  "All  houses  in  the  suburbs"  :  —  So,  "trust  that  little 
stock  of  money  thou  hast  gathered  to  set  up  a  house  of 
Carnality  ith'  suburbs."     The  Noble  Stranger.   1640.  I.  2. 

"  Thomas  Tapster  "  :  —  A  tapster  was  called  '  Thom- 
as,' as  an  ostler  was  called  '  John.' 

Scene  III. 

p.  20.  There  is,  strictly  speaking,  no  new  Scene  here.  One 
party  merely  goes  off  as  the  other  comes  on,  which  is  plain 
enough  fi'om  the  Clown  s  last  speech.  But  as  the  division 
is  made  m  the  original  and  has  been  preserved  for  nearly 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  as  the  stage  is  left  vacant 
and  an  entu-ely  new  interest  supervenes,  it  is  better  that  no 
change  should  be  made. 

'  " the  morality  of  imprisonment  "  :  —  The  original 

has  "  morto^ity  "  by  a  palpable  misprint  which  was  cor- 
rected by  Davenant,  in  his  Law  for  Lovers,  —  an  adaptation 
of  this  play. 

p.  21.       " the  denunciation  lack"  :  —  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of 

1632  substitutes  'pronunciation,'  which,  though  seeming 
plausible  at  tirst,  cannot  be  received,  and  shows  the  mcom- 
petence  and  the  want  of  authority  of  the  corrector,  and, 
perhaps,  the  lateness  of  his  labors.  Minsheu,  1617,  defines 
"To  denounce  or  declare,  —  indicere,  con-dicere,  indicare. 
Cooper,  1.578,  has  "  Demmtiare,  —  to  shew  or  tell  to  anoth- 
er, to  give  knowledge,  to  signifie,  to  denounce,"  &c.  Little- 
ton gives  the  same  definition.  The  word  seems  to  have 
been  used  rather  in  the  sense  of  '  declaring  beforehand,' 
which"  is  well  suited  to  this  place. 

'  " for  preservation  of  a  dower  "  :  —  The  original  has 

propogation,  which  has  hitherto  been  natmally,  but  too 
readily,  assumed  to  be  '  propagation '  -with  the  slight  mis- 
print of  a  letter.  But  it  is  impossible  to  find  any  appropri- 
ate signification  for  that  word  in  this  place.  It  means  '  in- 
creasing,' and  nothing  more  or  less  —  its  sense  of  '  begetting,' 

VOL.    III.  H 


114  MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE.  act  I. 


even,  being  entirely  derivative  or  accidental,  because  in- 
crease is  a  concomitant  of  begetting.  But  in  no  May  -would 
the  secrecy  of  Ckuidii)  and  Juliet  increase  her  dower  which 
was  "  remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends  ;  "  and  the  in- 
tention was,  as  Clauilio  says,  only  to  keep  it  there,  or  to 
preserve  it  for  her,  "  until  time  had  made  them  for,"  instead 
of  against  the  lovers.  These  considerations  dispose  of  Ma- 
lone's  suggestion,  '■'•  jirorogution"  and  the  '■'■procuration" 
proposed  by  Jackson,  and  foiuul  in  ]Mr.  Collier's  folio  of 
1632.  There  were  few  easier  misprints  than  propogation 
for  presercation  in  Shakespeare's  time  ;  for  the  e  and  the  o 
were  so  much  alike  that  they  could  hardly  be  distinguished, 
(see,  for  instance,  '  bboding '  or  '  bleeding  '  —  nobody  can 
tell  which  —  in  the  facsimile  of  a  part  of  Mr.  Collier's  folio 
of  1632,  pu))lishcd  in  his  Notes  and  Emendations,  &c.,)  and 
the  p  and  the  long  s  might  be  almost  as  easily  mistaken  for 
each  other.  Fiu-ther  confirmation  of  this  reading  is  to  be 
found  in  the  word  '  assurance,'  substituted  for  it  by  Dave- 
nant.  The  object  sought  was,  the  safety  of  the  dower  till 
time  had  worked  a  favorable  change  of  opinion  in  those 
who  had  it  in  theu'  possession. 

22.       " receive  her  approbation  "  .-  —  i.  e.,  enter  upon  her 

probationary  terra  —  her  noviciate. 

"  " a  prone  and  speechless  dialect"  :  —  Johnson  took 

"prone"  in  its  sense  of  'prompt,'  'quick,'  'ready;'  but 
the  suggestion  of  Steevens,  that  it  has  its  almost  primitive 
meaning  '  humble,'  is  far  happier. 

"  " the  enjoying  of  thy  life,  which  I  would  be  sorry," 

&c.  :  —  The  original  has  '  who,'  which  Collier  and  Knight, 
as  well  as  most  of  the  earlier  editors,  retain  ;  but  it  is  plain- 
ly a  misprhit  for  '  which.'  Sh;dvespeju-e  woidd  not  write 
"  the  like  which  "  and  "  the  life  irho  "  in  the  same  sentence. 

a   game  of  tick-tack  "  :  —  This  was  played  vdih 


the  backgammon  board,  and  was  sometimes  called  '  trick- 
track.'    As  to  liis  meaning,  Ltccio  is  his  own  commentator. 

Scene  IV. 

p.  23.       " to  headstrong  steeds  "  ;  —  The  original  has  '  weeds,' 

which,  although  retained  by  Mr.  Collier,  it  were  a  waste  of 
words  to  show  must  be  a  mis])rint  for  '  steeds,'  to  which  it 
Avas  changed  by  Theobald.  The  change  of  'slip'  of  the 
original  to  skep  in  the  next  line,  first  made  by  Davenant,  is 
of  the  same  nature. 

"  "  [Becomes]  more  mocked,"  &c.  :  —  Thi'  word  in  brack- 

ets, which,  or  a  not  easily  discovered  etiuivalent,  is  required 
by  the  sense,  is  not  in  the  original,  and  was  first  supplied 
by  Davenant. 


sc,  Y.  NOTES.  115 

p.  24:.  "  And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  fight 

To  do  in  slander." 

Tins  is  the  origuial  reading,  which  the  preceding  line 

both  explaijis  and  shows  to  be  correct ;  but  Hanmer  changed 

"  tight  "  to  '  sight '  and  "  in  "  to  '  it.'     "  To  do  in  slander  " 

is,  of  course,  '  to  peiform  tliis  office  m  the  face  of  slander.' 

SCEXE   V. 

p.  25.  "  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story  "  :  —  Malone  most  need- 
lessly reads,  "mock  me  not:  —  your  story,"  Davenant, 
"  make  nie  not  your  scorn."  But  this  use  of  'me'  is  the 
connnoncst  of  aU'archaisms.  For  instance,  "  —  he  steps  me 
to  her  trencher  and  steals  her  capon's  leg,"  {Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona,  Act  IV.  Sc.  4  ;)  «  A  good  shenis  sack  hath 
a  f\vo-fold  operation  in  it :  it  ascends  me  into  the  brain, 
diies  me  there  all  the  foolish,  and  dull  and  crudy  va- 
pours," &c.  {Henry  IV.  Part  2,  Act  IV.  Sc.  3.) 

p.  26.       "  That  from  the  seerhiess  "  .-  —  Mr.  Verplanck,  mth  much 
reason,  suggests  that  this  word  is  a  misprmt  for  '  seeding ; ' 
but  although  unique  in  this  place,  it  has  a  plain  and  ap- 
proijriate  meanuig,  and  must  not  be  distm-bed. 
"  <*  His  givings-out "  :  —  In  the  original  the  word  is  "  giv- 

ing,"  the  s  having  accidentally  dropped.  But  Mr.  Col- 
lier strangely  retauis  this  word,  and  changes  "  were  "  to 
'  was.' 

p.  27.  "  Of  business"  :  —  In  the  foho  these  words  are  piinted 
at  the  end  of  the  preceding  hne,  —  a  palpable  error,  which 
destroys  the  rhythm  by  two  supertluous  feet.  The  arrange- 
ment of  the  original  is  here  very  iiTegular. 


ACT    SECOND. 

SCEXB    I. 

28.       " the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood  "  :  —  The  orlg'.- 

nal  has  "  our  blood,"  —  a  palpable  misprint. 

"  " where  now  you  censure  him  "  :  —  The  folio  has 

"  ichich  now,"  &c.,  and  the  editors  have  retained  it,  some  add- 
ing anjcl  some  understanding  the  '  for,'  which  both  Malone 
and  Steevens  pronounced  to  be  necessary  to  the  sense  at 
the  end  of  the  line.  But  this  does  not  avoid  the  difficulty. 
Anqeh  did  not  censvu'e  Clutidio  for  a  point :  that  is  not 
English,  and  never  was.  He  might  censure  him  on  a 
point ;  but  there  has  been  plainly  a  misprint,  easily  made, 
of  '  which  '  fur  '  where.' 

"  " what    knows   the   law  "  :  —  The   original   has, 


116  MEASniE    FOR    MEASURE.        act  ii. 

"what  kuowcs  the  Lawes;"  and  "To  justice,"  belonging 
to  this  line,  to  which  it  was  restored  by  Steevens,  appears 
at  the  end  of  the  previous  line. 

p.  29.  "  For  I  have  had  :  "  —  because  I  have  had,  or,  on  ac- 
count of  my  having.  See  Note  on  "  for  catching  cold." 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

"  "  Some  i-un  from  brakes  of  vice  "  :  —  In   the   original, 

"  brakes  of  Ice."  As  Mr.  Dyce  has  remarked  upon  an- 
other passage,  the  old  printers  were  very  apt  to  blunder  on 
words  beginning  with  o ;  and  as  ui  this  case  a  capital  would 
be  used,  the  mistake  would  be  the  easier.  Rowe  made 
the  correction.  "  Brake "  has  its  common  meaning,  '  a 
thicket,'  in  contradistinction  to  the  solitary  faidt  spoken  of 
in  the  next  line  ;  and  "answer"  has  the  equally  common 
sense  of  '  answer  for.'  Steevens,  however,  imderstood 
"  brake  "  to  mean  an  mstrument  of  torture,  a  signification 
Avhich  it  undoubtedly  had ;  in  which  case  "  and  answ  er 
none"  would  mean  that  the  torture  failed  to  elicit  any 
reply.  But  this  is  from  the  purpose  :  Escahis  is  contrast- 
ing the  impunity  of  some  great  criminals  with  the  rigid 
accountability  to  which  petty  offenders  are  held.  Some- 
body proposed  to  read  "  breaks  of  ice  "  ! 

p.  30.       " a  tapster,   sir  —  parcel  bawd  "  :  —  part   tapster, 

part  bawd  :  '  parcel '  being  from  pars. 

"  " a  hot-house  "  :  —  a  bar/nio,  which  used  generally 

to  be  about  the  same  thing  as  the  sort  of  house  actually 
kept  by  the  Cloicn's  mistress. 

p.  31.  "  Come  ice  to  what  was  done  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  Come 
/?ie,"  which  has  been  liitherto  retained  and  even  quoted  as 
an  instance  of  that  use  of  the  pronoun,  noticed  above  in 
Isabella's  "  make  me"  and  Fahtaff's  "  ascends  me."  But 
'  come '  was  not  so  used,  and  could  not  be  :  "  comes  me  the 
Prince  and  Claudio,"  in  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Act  I. 
Sc.  3,  is  not  at  all  a  jjarallcl  case.  Escalus  means,  '  Let 
us  come  to  what  was  done, '  '  Let  us  get  at  ^\■hat  was 
done.' 

p.  32.       " m  a  lower  chair  "  :  —  an  easy  chair. 

"  " the  Bunch  of  Grapes  "  :  —  In  Shakespeare's  time 

the  larger  rooms  of  inns  were  named. 

p.  33.  "  Justice,  or  Iniquity  "  :  —  referring  to  allegorical  charac- 
ters commonly  found  in  the  old  Mysteries  and  Moralities. 

p.  34.       " no  more  of  it,  Master  Froth.     .     .     .     Come  you 

hither  to  me,  Mr.  Tapster"  :  —  Upon  Mr.  Collier's  suppo- 
sition that  in  Act  IV.  Sc.  3,  Shakespeare  makes  the  C'/own 
distinguish  between  those  who  had  and  those  \\bo  had  not 


8C.  II,  NOTES.  117 

the  rank  of  gentlemen,  by  calling  the  first  '  Mr. '  and  the 
last  '  blaster,'  Mr.  Dyce  well  remarks  that  "  no  such  dis- 
tinction was  ever  dreamed  of  by  Shakespeare,"  and  that 
"  Mr.  and  Master  were  put  indiscriminately  by  transcribers 
and  printers."  But  Mr.  Collier's  eiTor  was  e\jen  greater 
than  Mr.  Dyce  shows  it  to  be ;  for  '  Mr.'  —  pronounced 
Mister  —  was  at  tirst  a  degi-adation  of  the  more  foimal 
'  Master,'  as  '  !Mrs.'  —  pronounced  3Iissis  —  was  of  '  ilis- 
tress ;  '  and  neither  was  used  in  addressing  persons  '  of 
worship '  until  long  alter  they  had  been  applied  to  common 
folk.  At  last,  however,  (with.  '  ^Miss,'  which  originally 
had  a  very  derogatory  meaning,)  they  were  raised  to  their 
present  position.  Therefore,  although  the  abbreviated  form 
was  used  m  writing,  even  as  the  title  of  persons  of  con- 
sideration, the  distinction  of  the  original  text  between 
Master  Froth  and  Mister  Tapster  is  worthy  of  respect. 

p.  34.     " your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing  about  you"  :  — 

This  refers  to  the  fashion  of  stuihng  out  the  dress  around 
and  beliind  the  hips  with  horse  hair  or  some  like  material, 
which  prevailed  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth  and  the  early 
years  of  James  :  —  a  fashion  too  fair-ly  and  openly  fol- 
lowed in  our  own  days  to  need  further  explanation. 

p.  3o.       " after  three  pence  a  clay  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  a 

bay,"  by  the  most  palpable  and  easiest  of  misprints,  llie 
fact  that  the  distance  between  certain  beams  in  a  house  was 
called  '  a  bay  '  has  caused  that  word  to  be  retained  in  most, 
if  not  all,  editions.  But  this  is  one  of  those  instances  in 
which  the  meaning  of  the  word  in  the  original  excludes  it 
from  the  text,  as  inconsistent  both  with  the  context  and 
the  character  of  the  person  who  uses  it.  And  suppose  we 
admit  '  bay  '  :  —  three  pence  a  bay  for  how  long  ?  The 
Clown  means  to  say  he  could  get  houses  very  cheap  ;  and 
three  pence  a  day  would  give  us  the  "  fairest  house  in  Vi- 
enna" at  £-1  lis.  3f/.,  or,  at  the  present  value  of  money, 
about  one  hundred  and  forty  dollars  a  year.  '  Day,' 
which  had  been  suggested  by  Mr.  Halliwell  and  by  the 
present  editor,  was  found  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 

p.  36.       " by  your  readiness  in  the  office  "  :  —  The  original 

has,  "  by  the  readiness,"  &c.  :  the  result  of  mistaking  y' 
for  y^ 

Scene  II. 

p.  37.  "  He  hath  ojfended  httt  as  in  a  dream  "  :  —  The  original 
has  "  He  hath  but  as  ojfended,"  &c.,  —  a  transposition  fatal 
to  the  sense  of  the  Hue,  but  which  has  hitherto  remauied 
uncorrected. 

p.  40.       "  If  [but]  the  first  "  :  —  The  word  in  brackets  is  not  in 


118      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  ii. 


the  original ;  and,  as  one  is  necessary,  Pope  read,  "If  the 
first  wan,"  and  was  Ibllowed  by  Theobald,  ^Slalone,  and 
others.  This  reading,  however,  has  a  prosaic  particularity  ; 
"vvhich  is  also  in  a  measure  true  of  that  adopted  by  Capell 
and  Tyrwhitt  —  "  If  he,  the  first."  Angelo  means  to  say 
that  if'  but  the  first  had  been  punished,  the  many  would 
have  been  deteiTed. 

p.  -11.  "  But  ere  they  live  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  here,"  which 
Malone  changed  to  '  where,'  and  this  is  supported  by  Mr. 
Dyce.  Ilanmer  first  read  '  ere,'  which  is  the  only  word 
applicable  to  evils  "  in  progress  to  be  hatched  and  bom." 
Mr;  Collier  retained  "here"  !  but  the  corrector  of  his  folio 
of  1632  changed  it  to  '  ere.' 

p.  42.       " fond  shekeh  "  ;  —  The  word  is  spelled  "  sickles  " 

ii\  the  original  —  a  not  uncommon  orthography  of  old. 

p.  43.  "  Where  prayers  cross  "  ;  —  Were  it  not  that  every 
editor,  from  Johnson  do\\-n,  had  found  obscurity  in  this 
expression,  and  made  it  more  obscme  by  his  explanation, 
it  would  have  been  passed  here  without  comment.  Angelo, 
distracted  between  his  passion  and  his  sense  of  duty,  is  in 
that  way  of  temptation  in  which  his  prayers  for  preserva- 
tion from  wrong-doing  cross  those  which  he  utters  for  the 
enjoyment  of  Isabella.  If  explanation  be  needed,  Shake- 
speare himself  puts  it  into  Awjdo's  mouth  in  the  fii-st  lines 
of  the  next  Scene  but  one  :  — 

"  When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and  pray 
To  several  subjects :  Heaven  hath  my  cmptv  words, 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel,"  &c. 

Scene  III. 

p.  44.  " in  the  flames  of  her  own  youth  "  :  —  The  origi- 
nal has  "flaivs."     The  error  was  corrected  by  Davcnant. 

p.  45.       " but   l^st  you    do   repent  "  :  —  The    folio    has 

"least;"  but  the  two  words  used  to  be  pronounced,  ai.d 
so  were  often  written,  alijie.  There  are  yet  people  in  New 
England  —  not  ignorant  persons  —  who  pronounce  '  lest ' 
thus. 

"  " we  would  not  sjnire  Heaven  "  :  —  we  would  not 

spare  Heaven  our  sins.  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  has 
"  serve  Heaven." 


"  (),  injurious  law"  : — The  original  has  "fore,"  which 
is  undeniably  wrong,  as  Monck  Mason  pohited  out,  though 
not  clearly.  Neither  her  love  nor  its  consequences  had  any 
effect  upon  her  life;  but  the  law  in  question,  declaring,  as  we 
learn  in  the  old  tale  on  which  the  play  is  founded,  that  the 


sc.   IV.  NOTES.  119 

man  who  broke  it  "  should  lose  his  head,  and  the  woman 
offender  should  ever  after  be  infamously  noted,"  thus  did 
respite  her  "a  life  whose  ver\-  comfort"  was  "a  dying 
misery."  Hanmer  made  the  slight  though  important  cor- 
rection ;  but  most  modern  editors,  including  Mr.  Colher 
and  Mr.  Knight,  retain  the  senseless  '  love.' 

Scene  IV. 

p.  46.  "  Whilst  my  invention  "  :  —  Warburton  was  more  than 
probably  right  in  reading  '  intention.'  But  as  '  invention  '  is 
used  by  Shakcspeai-e  in  other  places  for  '  imagination,'  which 
gives  a  consistent  sense,  the  original  word  must  stand. 

p.  46.  "  Grown  sear'd  and  tedious  "  :  —  Most  copies  of  the  first 
folio  have  "feard;"  but  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere's,  as  Mr. 
Collier  tells  us,  has  seard,  "  as  if  the  letter  s  had  been  sub- 
stituted for  _/'  as  the  sheet  was  gomg  through  the  press." 
Warburton  proposed  the  obvious  correction,  which  needs 
no  authority  to  sustain  it. 

"  "  Blood,  thou   art  blood  "  :  —  The  pause  after  the   ex- 

clamation tills  out  the  li:ie  -w-ith  a  rhetorical  effect,  which, 
with  a  finer  sense,  Pope  destroyed,  by  reading  "  thou  art 
but  blood,"  and  ^Malone,  by  reading  "  thou  stiU  ait  blood." 

"  "The  (/cneral"  :  —  The  general  public.     So  in  Hamlet, 

(Act  II.  Sc.  2,)  "  'twas  caviare  to  the  general." 

p.  48.  "Let  me  be  ignorant": — The  first  foUo  omits  "me," 
which  is  supplied  in  the  second. 

"  "  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 

(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other,) 
But  —  in  the  loss  of  question  —  that  you,"  &c. 
There  is  a  certain  obscurity  in  this  sentence,  owing  partly 
to  its  interwoven  parentheses,  and  partly  to  the  obso- 
lete sense  in  which  "  question  "  is  used.  "  In  the  loss  of 
question  "  means  '  in  the  very  waste  of  words,'  '  supposing 
an  unsupposable  case,'  or,  as  Steeveiis  says,  'in  idle  sup- 
position.' '  Question  '  is  continually  used  by  Shakespeare 
in  the  sense  of  '  discussion.'  In  the  folio  the  parenthesis 
begins  at  "As"  and  extends  to  "question,"  inclusively, 
thus  making  confusion.  For,  excluding  all  parenthetical 
matter,  the  sentence  is,  "  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his 
life,  but  that  you,  his  sister,  finding,"  &c. ;  and  the  "but " 
must  not  be  shut  out  of  the  direct  construction.  Hanmer 
saw  this,  and  so  enclosed  "  in  the  loss  of  question  "  within 
marks  of  parenthesis,  by  itself.  But  in  his  day  our  useful, 
but  too  much  and  too  vaguely  used,  dash  had  not  taken 
its  present  place  in  punctuation.  All  of  this  speech  is  in 
a  manner  parenthetical,  except  the  first  and  last  lines.    The 


120      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE,  act  hi. 

reader  will  find  it  analyzed  ■v\-ith  particularity  in  Shake- 
speare's Scholar,  -where,  however,  a  needless  change  of  a 
word  in  the  text  is  proposed.  Dr.  Johnson  proposed  to 
read  "  toss  of  question  "  ! 

p.  49.  "Of  the  a\l-holdiiii/\av,-"  :  —  The  folio  has  "  aW-huild- 
iny,"  by  an  e^ident  typographical  error,  which  Rowe  cor- 
rected. The  generally  received  reading,  "  aW-binding,"  is 
attributed  by  Johnson,  Steevens,  Knight,  and  ("oilier  to 
Theobald  ;  but  it  is  to  be  found  neither  in  his  edition  of 
1738  nor  in  that  of  1740,  and  he  died  in  1744.  It  first  ap- 
pears in  Johnson's  edition,  1765.  Theobald  would  have 
been  obliged  to  set  at  naught  his  own  admirable  canon  of 
conjectural  criticism  in  substituting  '  all-binding '  for  '  all- 
holding,'  which  is  its  equivalent  in  sense  and  much  nearer 
to  the  form  of  the  word  hi  the  original. 

p.  49.  " I've  been  sick  for  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  That  long- 
ing have  been  sick  for,"  omitting  the  pronoun,  which  some 
editors  have  merely  inserted.  But  "  have "  was  a  mis- 
print, and  a  very  easy  one,  for  "  I've." 

"  "  hjnomy  in  ransom  "  :  —  An  old  form  of  '  ignominy,' 

which  occurs  again  in  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act.  Y.  Sc.  3. 

"  "  Else  let  my  brother  die, 

If  not  a  feodai-y  but  only  he 
Owe  and  succeed  thy  weakness." 
This  speech  is  found  somewhat  obscure,  but  only  on  ac- 
count of  the  obsolete  or  peculiar  sense  in  which  the  three 
important  words  in  it  are  used.     "  Feodary  "  means  'an 
associate,'  '  a  fellow '  :  as  in  Gymbeline,  Act  III.  Sc.  2  :  — 

"  Senseless  bauble. 
Art  thou  a  feodary  for  this  act  r "  &c. 
"Owe"  means  'to   possess,'  as   is  seen  by  scores  of  in- 
stances in  these  plays  ;  and  "  succeed"  means  '  to  follow,' 
'  to  take  after,'  as  'in  All's  Well  That  Ends  Well,  Act  I. 
Sc.  1  :  — 

"  Be  thou  blest,  Bertram,  and  succeed  thy  father 
In  manners,  as  in  shape." 
Isabella's  reply  is  therefore  —  in  the  chunsincss  of  para- 
phrase —  '  Otherwise  let  my  brother  die,  if  no  companion 
but  he  alone  be  possessed  of  and  take  after  thy  weakness.' 


ACT   THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

52.       "  The  miserable  have,"  &c.  :  —  The  metrical   arrange- 
ment of  this  passage  is,  ^^■ith  a  slight  variation,  that  of  the 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  121 

original,  which  was  needlessly  much  changed  by  Steevens, 
■who  has  hitherto  been  inconsiderately  followed,  except  by 
Knight  and  Smger. 

p.  52.  "  Servdle  to  all  the  skyey  influences 

That  (lost  this  habitation  where  thou  keep'st 
Hourly  afflict." 
This  is  the  original  text,  which  Hanmer  changed  by 
reading  "  that  do."  Upon  this  emendation,  Person  is  rep- 
resented in  the  Variorum  edition  as  remarking,  "  The  con- 
struction is  not  '  the  skicy  influences  that  do,'  but  '  a 
breath  thou  art  that  dost,'  &c.  If  '  Servile  thou  art  to  all 
the  skiey  influences '  be  enclosed  in  a  parenthesis,  all  the 
difficulty  will  vanish."  It  is  not  sm-prising  that  this  sug- 
gestion has  since  been  followed  ;  for  a  critical  decision  by 
Porson  is  to  be  received  with  as  much  deference  as  is  due 
to  one  in  morals  by  Dr.  Johnson.  But  still  it  must  be 
remarked  that  this  construction  would,  in  the  words  of  the 
text,  make  the  breath  hourly  afflict  its  habitation,  the  body, 
—  an  absurd  result  of  his  suggestion,  ■v\hicli,  of  covn-se, 
entu'cly  escaped  the  attention  of  Porson.  Plainly  it  is 
"  all  the  skyey  influences "  that  afflict  the  body.  Yet 
Hanmer's  change  is  inadmissible ;  for  such  disagreements 
of  verbs  with  nominatives  are  not  uncommon  in  Shake- 
speare's writings  and  those  of  his  contemporaries.  It  Ls 
more  than  probable,  too,  that  he  WTote  "  influe/ice,"  both 
here  and  in  The  Winter's  Tale,  Act  I.  Sc.  2,  as  the  rhythm 
in  both  instances  would  seem  to  require.  For  '  influence ' 
in  Shakespeare's  time  was  a  word  \\ithout  a  plural,  and 
was  used,  especially  when  applied  to  the  heavenly  bodies, 
(to  which  service  it  was  then  almost  set  apart,  —  see  Cot- 
grave's  Dictionanj,  also  Richardson's,)  in  its  radical  sense 
of  '  in-flowing,'  and  then  in  the  singular-  form,  even  when 
all  those  bodies  are  spoken  of.  See  Milton,  who  frequently 
uses  the  word,  but  never  the  plural. 

•'And  happie  Constellations  on  that  houre 
Shed  their  selectest  influence."     Par.  Lost,  VIII.  512. 

"  and  taught  the  iixt  [i.  e.  stars] 
Their  influence  malignant  when  to  shed."    lb.  X.  663. 

•'  TJnmuffle  ye  faint  stars,  and  thou  fair  Moon 

Or  if  your  influence  be  quite  damm'd  up 
With  black  usurping  mists."      Comiis,  330,  335. 

"  " thou  art  Death's  Fool "  :  —  The  reference  here,  as 

Steevens  and  Douce  have  heretofore  pointed  out,  is  to  the 
intnxluction  of  Death  and  a  Fool  in  the  rude  old  plays  and 
dumb  shows  ;  —  the  sport  being  made  by  Death's  endeav- 


122      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  iii, 

ors  to  surprise  the  Mem'  Andrew  and  the  finally  unsuc- 
cessful efforts  of  the  latter  to  elude  them. 

p.  53.  "  "What  hoa ! "  —  La  this  fonn  the  exclamation  constant- 
ly appears  in  the  original,  and  also  with  suificiently  rare 
exceptions  in  contcmporaiy  authors  to  show  that  '  ho,'  to 
which  it  is  universally  changed  by  modern  editors,  although 
it  gives  the  sense,  does  not  represent  the  sound  of  the  word 
as  used  between  two  hundred  and  fifty  and  three  hundred 
years  ago. 

"  "  Bring  me  to  hear  tJiem  speak  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  Bring 

them  to  hear  7ne  speak."  Strangely  enough,  it  was  left  for 
Steevens  to  make  the  requii-ed  transposition  of  the  pro- 
nouns. 

p.  .54.       " most  good,  most  good  indeed  "  :  —  The  second 

"most  good"  has  been  generally  omitted  ;  and  it  is  more 
than  possible  that  the  repetition  is  due  to  copyist  or  com- 
l^ositor.  But  the  emphasis  is  in  place,  and  Alexandrines 
are  too  common  in  this  play  to  make  the  redundant  foot  a 
sufficient  reason  for  the  omission  of  the  Avords. 

an  everlasting  leiger  "  :  —  A  leiger  was  a  resident 


ambassador. 

"  "  Though  all  the  world's  vastidity"  :  —  The  folio  has 

"  through." 

p.  55.  "  The  priestly  Angelo  : "  —  The  folio  has  "prenzie  "  both 
here  and  three  lines  below,  —  a  combination  of  letters,  but 
not  a  word.  It  was  changed  in  the  second  folio  to  'prince- 
ly,' a  word  singularly  out  of  relation  to  the  context,  and 
deserving  of  no  particular  attention  because  it  is  in  that 
edition.  Tieck  conjectured  that  '  precise  '  might  bo  the 
word  ;  and  in  spite  of  its  destruction  of  the  rhythm  of  two 
Hues  and  of  its  meagre  sense,  it  has  been  adopted  by  Knight 
and  Hudson.  ^Ir.  Singer  reads  *  pri/iizic,'  which  he  says  is 
used  by  Burns  for  '  formal,'  '  demure,'  and  quotes  an  old 
provcrl),  '  a  primzie  damsel  makes  a  laidlie  dame.'  But 
Shakespeare  was  not  writing  Scotch  saws.  Is  it  not  plain 
from  Isabella's  phrases  in  her  previous  speech,  "  this  outward 
sainted  deputy"  who  "  is  yet  a  devil,"  that  priestly  guards, 
i.  e.,  priestly  onuimcnts  or  facings,  \vcrc  the  marks  of  the 
livery  with  which  she  says  Hell  invests  such  as  he  ?  Pol- 
lok's  description  of  a  hypocrite,  as 

"  one  who  stole  the  livery  of  Heaven 
To  serve  the  Devil  in," 
is  the  very  converse,  the  coimtcr-proof,  of  Isabella's  thought. 
Warburton  first  suggested  '  priestly,'  and  it  was  discovered 
in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  l(i;52. 

p.  56.      " the  delighted  spirit  "  :  —  The  obvious  sense  of  this 


sc.   ir.  NOTES.  123 

much  discussed  expression  is  the  proper  one.  Claudia  says 
that  the  body  which  is  sensible  and  warm  is  to  become  a 
clod,  and  that  the  spirit  which  is  deUghted  [i.  e.,  enjoys  what 
John  Bunyan  calls  the  delight  of  life]  is  to  suffer  the  tor- 
ment of  tire  or  ice,  or  unprisonment  m  the  winds.  War- 
burton  first  made  the  passage  the  subject  of  comment,  and 
gave  an  exphuiation  somewhat  hke  this.  Hanmer  read 
'dikdcd;'  Johnson  proposed  ^delinquent,'  and  approved 
'  benighted.' 

p.  56.       " age,  ache,  penury  "  :  —  The  first  foho  has  "per- 
jury," which  was  corrected  in  the  second. 

'  " shp  of  wilderness  "  :  —  a  ■\\'ild  sUp,  not  irom  the 

true  stock  :  often  so  used  by  Shakespeare's  contemporaries 
and  immediate  successors. 

p.  59.       " was  affianced  to  her  by  oath  "  :  —  The  first  folio 

omits  "  by,"  which  was  supphed  in  the  second. 

"  " her  combinate  husband  "  —  contracted  husband. 

So  in  Act  IV.  Sc.  3,  "  I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow." 

p.  60.       " the  coriTipt  deputy  fo/ferf  "  ;  —  The  first  folio  has 

'■'■  fcaled"  spelled  of  com-se  with  a  long  s,  —  a  very  easy 
misprint.  This  word  has  been  hitherto  retained  :  Warbur- 
ton  supix)sed  it  to  mean  '  weighed  ; '  but  Ampeh  had  been 
ah-eady  weighed  and  found  wanting,  and  the  Duke's  prop- 
osition involved  no  further  test :  others  are  ckiven  to  the 
fish-market  for  a  definition  even  less  disgusting  than  ridic- 
ulous. The  only  object  of  the  'FiAax-Duke,  as  far  as  Isabella, 
Claudio,  and  Mariana  were  concerned,  was  to  foil  the  cor- 
rupt Deputy. 

"  " the  Moated  Grange  "  :  — A  grange  was  original- 

ly a  fann  house  attached  to  a  monastery  :  this  one  was,  or 
had  been,  attached  to  that  of  St.  Luke,  mentioned  just  be- 
fore by  the  Duke.  The  word  finally  came  to  be  applied  to 
a  comitry  house  less  pretentious  than  a  Hall,  and  more  so 
than  a  cottage. 

Scene  II. 

p.  61.  "  The  Street  before  the  Prison."  No  change  of  Scene  is 
indicated  in  the  folio,  but  Elbow  and  the  rest  join  the  Duke ; 
—  an  arrangement  plainly  the  result  of  the  want  of  scene- 
ry on  Shakespeare's  stage. 

"  " brown  and  white  bastard  "  :  —  a  kind  of  sweet 

wine,  made  of  raisins. 

"  " good  brother  father"  :  —  Elbow  calls  the  Duks 

'  father  brother  (^frere),  and  the  Duke  m  retm'u  calls  him 
*  brother  father.' 


124      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE,   act  hi. 

p.  61.       " I   eat,  array  myself":  —  The  folio  has  "away 

myself,"  which  to  a  London  exquisite  would  be  hardly 
even  a  misprint. 

p.  62.      "  [Free]  from  our  faults,  as  from  faults  seeming  free  !  " 
In  the  original  folio  this  line  is  printed  without  the  first 
■word,  without  an  initial  capital,  and  with  a  transposition, 
thus : — 

"  from  our  faults  as  faults  from  seeming  free." 
"  Free,"  demanded  both  by  sense  and  rhythm,  was  supplied 
in  the  second  folio  ;  but  the  other  equally  needed  emenda- 
tion has  not  hitherto  been  made.  The  Duke  speaks  not  of 
faults,  but  of  men.  Elbow's  eulogy  of  "  the  precise  Angelo  " 
causes  his  better  informed  hearer  to  wish  that  all  men  were 
as  free  from  faults  as  some  seem  to  be  free  from  them. 
The  line  evidently  broke  down,  as  the  printers  say,  and  in 
attempting  to  set  it  up  agam,  two  words  were  transposed  as 
well  as  one  omitted. 

"  " extracting  it  clutch'd  :  "  —  The  folio  omits  "  it." 

It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  point  out  that  Lucio  asks  the 
bawd  if  there  are  any  women  to  be  had  for  money. 

"  "  "What  say' St  thou.  Trot  /  "  —  Gray  suggested  "  "What 

say'st  thou  to't  /  "  and  Collier,  "  What  say'st  thou  froth  /  " 
But  the  word  in  the  original  begins  with  a  capital ;  and 
there  sm-ely  could  be  no  name  given  to  a  Bawd's  assistant 
more  appropriate  than  Trot. 

''  " she  is  herself  in  the  tub  "  :  —  The  allusion  is  to 

the  powdering  tub  in  which  beef  was  powdered,  i.  e.  salted, 
in  order  to  preserve  it  from  corruption. 

p.  64.       " he  is  a  motion  wHgenerative  "  :  —  The  original 

has,  "  a  motion  ypHerative."  Theobald  made  the  change, 
the  necessity  of  which  will  be  apparent  to  any  one  who 
considers  Angela's  character  and  what  Lucio  has  just  said 
and  soon  after  says  of  him.  Yet  Steevens,  Knight,  and 
Collier  retain  '  generative,'  which  the  former  explains  as  '  a 
masculine  puppet.' 

p.  Go.       " a  ducat  in  her  clack-dish  "  :  —  Beggars  used  to 

have  a  dish  lor  the  receipt  of  alms  with  a  hinged  cover 
which  they  clacked  to  attract  attention.  It  is  almost  need- 
less to  say  that  Lucio  makes  a  very  poor  pun  for  the  sake 
of  a  very  indecent  jest. 

"  " an  inward  of  his  "  :  —  an  intimate. 

"  "  with  dearer  love"  :  —  The  folio  has  "  deare,"  the 

r  having  chopped  out. 

p.  66.       " would  eat  mutton  on  Fridays  "  :  —  Lucio' s  chai-ge 

of  the  violation  of  a  fast  day  involves  also  an  innuendo, 
from  the  a])plication  of  '  mutton  '  to  prostitutes. 


SC.    II. 


NOTES.  125 


p_  68.      " and  it  is  as  dangerous,"  &c.  :  — The  folio  has 

"  and  as  it  is  as  dangerous,"  the  sentence  nevertheless 
being  closed  at  "  undertaking  "  -with  a  full  point,  and 
the  next  word  beginning  with  a  capital.  Mr.  Collier 
retained  the  '  as '  and  made  one  sentence  of  the  two,  to 
which  the  objection  is,  not  only  that  it  is  not  logical,  as 
Mr.  Knight  says,  but  that  a  semblance  of  logic  is  not  in 
place.  The  Duke  himself  calls  what  he  says  a  "  riddle," 
i.  e.,  a  paradox. 

'  "  You  have  paid  the  Heavens  your  function  "  :  —  ^Ir. 

Collier's  folio  of  1632  has,  "  You  have  paid  the  Heavens 
the  due  of  your  function,"  the  corrector  having  failed  to 
see  that  '  to  pay  a  function '  and  '  to  discharge  a  duty ' 
are  synonymous. 

p.  69.  "He,  who  the  sword,"  &c. :  —  I  more  than  doubt 
that  this  and  the  following  lines  are  Shakespeare's ;  and, 
brietiy,  for  these  reasons.  —  They  are  not  interwoven 
with  "the  Scene  or  evolved  from  it,  but  appended  to  it, 
'  tacked  on '  it  :  —  they  are  entirely  superfluous,  having 
no  dramatic  purpose,  and  uttering  no  moral  truth  that 
has  not  had  infinitely  better  utterance  before  ;  and,  so, 
being  sheer  surplusage,  like  all  surplusage,  might  be 
stricken  out  with  advantage  :  —  their  rhythmical  ex- 
pression is  entirely  inconsistent  with  their  sentiment  and 
with  the  diction  of  the  serious  parts  of  this  play  ;  it  was 
not  in  Shakespeare  to  stoj)  the  Biike  and  set  him  off  in 
this  octosyllabic  canter  upon  the  same  road  over  which 
he  had  paced  before  with  such  severe  and  stately  dig- 
nity :  —  the  lines  are  a  mere  succession  of  couplets,  each 
containing  a  perfect  if  not  an  isolated  thought,  which 
is  not  Shakespeare's  manner  under  any  circumstances, 
and  above  all  in  such  a  soliloquy  as  the  Duke's ;  "  non 
color,  non  mtltus."  If  we  will,  we  must  believe  that  this 
soliloquy  was  written  by  Shakespeare  after  those  in  Ham- 
let. Let  who  will  believe  it !  —  I  am  quite  sure  that 
Shakespeare  closed  the  Act  with  the  Duke's  "Peace  be 
with  you  !  "  and  that  these  lines  were  added  by  some 
one  of  the  versifiers  that  it  was  common  to  have  about 
theatres,  and  often  among  the  actors,  hi  those  days,  and 
one  who  wrote  in  the  old  style.  The  linos  may  have 
been  added  with  Shakespeare's  consent ;  for  gentle  ^Vill 
had  the  kindest  heart  hi  the  world ;  and  while  working, 
himself,  up  to  the  highest  requirements  of  his  art,  was 
well  content,  so  long  as  the  audience  was  pleased  and 
the  theatre  prosperous,  to  do  any  thing  to  serve  or  grat- 
ify a  friend;  and  the  play  not  having  been  published 
until  twenty  years  after  it  was  written,  the  circumstance 


126      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  iv. 

of  the  introduction  of  such  a  speech  would  more  than 
probably  be  forgotten  by  Ileminge  and  Condell,  even  if 
they  thought  of  the  subject.  But  as  this  is  merely  an 
ophiion,  unsupported  by  any  authority,  no  marks  imply- 
ing doubt  of  the  authenticity  of  the  speech  are  allowed 
to  appear  in  the  text. 

p.  69.  '<  Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ;  " 

Various  and  futile  have  been  the  attempts  to  make; 
better  English  of  this  line  without  rewriting  it :  —  the 
reason  being  that  the  fault  is  not  in  the  printer  but  the 
author.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  have 
suggested, 

"  Grace  to  stand,  virtue  to  go  ;  " 

"  "  How  may  likeness  icacle  in  crimes." 

The  folio  has  "  made."  Malone  suggested  the  word  in 
the  text,  which  removes  all  the  "great  obscurity  "  which 
commentators  have  found  in  this  passage,  except  that  re- 
sulting from  the  writer's  own  confused  notion  of  what 
he  wanted  to  say.  "  Likeness  "  luis  been  taken  to  mean 
'  comeliness.'  Mr.  Collier's  folio  has  "  Masking  practice  " 
in  the  next  line  :  Malone  read  "  Mockim/  practice  ;  "  and 
various  other  ineffectual  ajid  supererogatory  labor  has 
been  expended  upon  the  passage. 


ACT   FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 
p.  70.  "  Take,  O  !  take  those  lips  aicay." 

This  most  exquisite  of  love  songs  reappears  in  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher's  Bloodij  Brother,  first  published  sur- 
reptitiously at  London,  1639,  an  authorized  edition  having 
appeared  at  Oxford,  1640.  1\\  the  latter  jjlay  this  stanza 
is  accompanied  by  the  following :  — 

"Hide,  oh,  hide  th(fee  hills  of  snow 
Which  thy  frozen  bosom  bears. 
On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  grow 

Are  of  those  that  April  wears  ; 
But  first  set  my  poor  heart  free, 
Bound  in  those  icy  chains  by  thee." 

Both  stanzas  were  published  as  Shakespeare's  in  the  spurious 
edition  of  his  Poems,  London,  1640,  and,  from  that  time  to 
the  present,  both  have  been  attributed  to  him,  except  by  some 
of  the  critics  and  commentators  who  wcr(>  in  doubt  to  whom 


sc.   II.  NOTES.  127 

to  assign  them.  But  this  stanza  alone  is  Shakespeai-e's  ; 
the  other,  almost  surely,  Fletcher's.  The  two  stanzas  in 
fact  ■will  not  make  one  sono;,  except  at  great  violence  to  both 
the  form  and  spirit  of  the  first.  For  that  is  ■written  so  that 
the  music  shall  repeat  the  last  three  syllables  of  each  of 
the  last  two  lines,  which  is  impossible  with  the  other  :  they 
can  both  be  sung  to  the  same  music  only  by  suppressuig 
the  beautiful  and  touching  repetition  in  the  first :  and  thi-i 
was  done  when  it  ■\\as  introduced  in  The  Bloody  Brother. 
Besides,  the  stanza  added  in  that  play  is  palpably  addressed 
to  a  woman,  while  this  is  just  as  certainly  and  as  clearly, 
though  not  just  as  palpably,  addressed  to  a  man.  See 
Shakespeare' s  Scholar,  where  this  is  shown  and  the  subject 
examined  in  detail.  The  command  to  the  Boy,  to  break 
off  his  song,  is  but  a  dramatic  contrivance  to  produce  the 
effect  of  an  intrusion  upon  Mariana's  sohtude. 

p.  71.       " planched  gate"  :  —  a  planked  gate.     The  French 

plancher  with  the  ch  hard. 

"  "  There  have  I  made  my  promise,"  &c. :  —  These  lines 

are  prose,  although  printed  as  verse  in  the  folio.  By  no 
efforts  have  they  been  made  to  assume  more  than  the  mere 
foiTu  of  verse.     The  foho  has, 

"  There  have  I  made  my  promise,  upon  the 
Heavy  middle  of  the  night  to  call  upon  him." 
Capell  and  ^Malone  make  this  bold  transposition  :  — 
"  There  have  I  made  my  promise  to  call  on  him 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night." 
Mr.  Collier  gives, 

"  There  have  I  made  my  promise  upon  the  heavy 
Middle  of  the  night  to  call  upon  him." 
No  one  \\ill  regret  such  verse ;  and  we  have  many  instances 
of  the  first  part  of  a  speech  in  verse  with  the  last  in  prose ; 
of  which,  indeed,  in  the  third  speech  of  the  Duke  above, 
there  is  one  at  hand. 

p.  73.       " our  tilth's  to  sow  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  tithe's,"  a 

tj'pographical  error  which  was  corrected  by  Warburton  and 
in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 

Scene  II. 

p.  76.  " were  he  meal'd  "  ;  —  This  word  is  taken  by  John- 
son to  mean  'sprinkled,'  as  meat  is,  ^\iXh  the  dredging  box  ; 
Blackstone  derives  it  from  '  mesler,'  '  to  mingle,'  which  is 
better  ;  but  there  is  probably  a  misprint,  though  for  what, 
I  cannot  conjecture. 

"  " th'  unlistiw;  postern  "  :  —  the  unregarding  pos- 

tern.   The  folio  has  "  vnsisting."    The  emendation  is  Monck 


128      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  iv. 

Mason's ;  and  as  both  «'s  are  long  in  the  original,  it  involves 
only  the  coirection  of  the  easiest  possible  misprint.  Rowe 
gave  '  unresisting,'  Ilanmer  '  unresting,'  Steevens  suggested 
^ tmlist' ning ,'  or  ^unshifting,'  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632 
has  '  resisting,'  —  a  very  plausible  correction,  —  and  Black- 
stone  says  that  '  unsisting '  "  may  mean  '  never  at  rest,' 
'always  opening.'  " 

p.  76.  "Happelg": — That  is,  '  hap-ly,'  'by  hap,'  formerly 
spelled  'happc'  This  is  the  word  as  it  stands  in  the 
original,  —  the  old  orthography  and  pronunciation  being 
retained  on  account  of  the  rhythm,  which  requux'S  a  word 
of  three  syllables. 

"  "  This  Ls  his  lordship's  man  "  :  —  In  the  original  folio 

this  speech  is  assigned  to  the  Duke,  and  the  next  to  the 
Provost ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Tyrwhitt  was 
right  in  suggesting  the  transposition  of  the  prefixes  ;  for 
the  Duke  would  not  know,  or,  at  least,  seem  to  know,  his 
lordship's  man ;  and  the  Provost  was  far  from  expecting 
Claudio's  pardon,  which  the  Duke,  on  the  contrary,  looked 
for  eveiy  moment.  Just  before,  when  the  knocking  is  first 
heard,  he  says  to  himself,  "  Now  are  they  come,"  aiid  while 
the  Provost  reads  the  letter,  "  This  is  his  pardon." 

p.  78.      " his  fact  "  :  —  his  deed  :  the  radical  sense  of  the 

word. 

p.  79.       " dye  the  beai'd  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  tie  the  beard." 

Heath  is  the  author  of  this  emendation,  which  ('dye'  and 
'die'  having  lieen  in  Shakespeare's  day  Avithout  any  chs- 
tinction  of  orthogTaphy)  is  not  only  justified  but  required 
by  what  the  Provost  says  in  the  next  Scene  about  Ragozine, 
"  his  beard  and  head  just  of  his  colour."  As  it  was  custom- 
ary for  men  to  dye  the  beard  and  women  the  hair,  materials 
could  easily  be  procured. 

p.  80.       " nothing  of  what  is   [here]    writ": — The   folio 

omits  "here,"  which  is  necessary  to  the  sense,  and  was 
supplied  by  Warburton. 

Scene  III. 
"  " Master  Rash  "  :  —  The  original  has  the  abbre- 


viated form  "  3//-."  throughout  this  speech,  except  iii  the 
case  of  Three-pile.  See  Note  on  "  Master  Froth,"  Act  II. 
Sc.  I. 

" a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and  old  ginger  "  :  — 

Usurers  in  Shakespeare's  day,  as  they  do  now,  made  their 
unfortunate  clients  take  ])art  of  their  loan  in  rubbish  of 
some  sort  or  other,  which  must  needs  be  sold  at  a  great  sac- 
rifice, (iinger  was  then,  oddly  enough,  oie  of  the  com- 
modities so  used. 


sc.   IV.  NOTES.  129 

p.  80.       " and  are  now  for  the  Lord's  sake  "  :  —  This  is  an 

allusion  to  the  practice  of  permitting  prisoners  for  debt  to 
ask  alms  of  visitors  and  passers.  It  obtamed  until  recently 
at  the  Fleet  in  London.  Malone  quotes  the  following  per- 
tinent passage  from  Nashe's  Apoloffi/for  Pierce  Pennilesse, 
1593  :  "  At  that  time  that  thy  joys  were  in  the  fieet-ing, 
and  thus  crjang  '  for  the  Lord's  sake '  out  at  an  iron  win- 
dow." Singer  also  gives  the  following  from  Baret's  Alvea- 
rie,  1573  : —  "then  will  he  turn  him  [the  debtor]  to  com- 
mons into  Ludgate  ;  where  for  his  ablative  case  he  shall 
have  a  dative  cage,  cra^ang  and  crying  at  the  gate  '  your 
worship's  charitie  for  the  Lord's  sake.'  " 

p.  81.  "  Master  Barnardine  "  :  —  The  CloAvn  who  has  just  said 
"  Mr.  Barnardine,  you  must  rise  and  be  hanged,"  now, 
when  he  coaxes,  says,  "  Pray,  Master  Barnardine."  See 
Note  on  "Master  Froth,"  Act  II.  Sc.  1.  This  may  be  ac- 
cidental ;  but  if  so,  it  is  to  be  classed  among  "  Gli  Injanni 
Fortunati." 

p.  82.  "  0,  grovelling  beast !"  —  The  folio  has  "  O  gravell heart," 
which  means  nothing,  although  many  have  tried  to  per- 
suade themselves  and  others  to  receive  it  for  '  O  stony  heart.' 
The  correction  is  from  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  :  the  mis- 
print which  it  supposes  is  an  easy  one,  and  the  sense  which 
it  gives,  most  appropriate. 

p.  83.  "  Ere  twice  the  sun  "  :  —  The  metrical  arrangem.ent  here 
is  that  of  the  original,  which  was  needlessly  changed  by 
Steevens,  who  was  loUowcd  unthinkmgly  by  almost  every 
subsequent  editor.  The  purpose  of  Steevens  was  to  accom- 
modate the  rhythm  to  a  necessary  change  in  the  original 
text,  which  has  "To  yond  generation."     Steevens  read, 

"  Ere  twice 
The  sun  has  made  his  journal  greeting  to 
The  under  generation." 
The  error  resulted  from  the  compositor's  mistaking  'y» 
und' '  (abbreviated  for  '  the  under  ' )  for  '  yond  ; '  and  '  th' 
under  '  does  not  destroy  the  rhythm  of  the  line,  as  '  gen- 
eration '  was  used  sometimes  as  a  word  of  four,  sometimes 
of  five,  syllables.  The  emendation  has  been  rejected  of 
late  years,  and  indeed  was  never  properly  estabhshed; 
but  aji  examination  of  the  meaning  of  the  passage  will 
show  that  we  must  read  "  th'  under  generation,"  i.  e.,  the 
antipodes,  and  not  "  yond  generation,"  i.  e.,  the  world  out- 
side the  prison.  For,  just  before,  we  are  told,  vnt\i  some 
particularity,  that  it  is  almost  day  break  ;  and  the  Provost's 
justification,  if  made  before  the  sun  had  twice  greeted  the 
people  of  Vienna,  must  have  been  made  that  day  ;  but  if 
made  before  the  sun  had  twice  greeted  the  antipodes,  that 
is,  before  the  second  ensuing  night,  it  of  covirse  must  take 
VOL.    III.  I 


130      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.   ACT  IT. 

place  on  or  before  the  day  after ;   and  so  it  did,  and  so 

the  Duke  declared  it  would  to  Isabella  as  well  as  to  the 

Provost. 
p.  83.       " loell  balanc'd  form  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  toeal- 

balanc'd:"    a  palpable  misprint  for  "  well-balanc'd,"   as 

Heath  and  Mason  pointed  out. 
p.  85.      " he's  a  better  looodman  "  ;  —  a  hunter  after  deer, 

and  so  after  dears.    FaMaff  asks  Mrs.  Ford,  with  a  similar 

double  meaning,  "  Am  I  a  woodman  ?  " 

Scene  IV, 

p.  86.      " hath   disvouch'd    [the]   other  "  :  —  The  article, 

necessary  to  the  sense,  is  omitted  in  the  folio. 

p.  87.  "Yet  reason  dares  her  on,"  &c.  :  —  That  is,  of  course. 
'  Reason  is  on  my  side,  and  dares  her  to  denounce  me ;  for 
should  she  do  so,  my  mere  reputation  and  authority  would 
at  once  confound  her.'  The  folio  has  "  Yet  reason  dares 
her  no,"  by  the  most  ob\'iou9  and  easy  of  tj'jjographical  er- 
rors, which  yet  has  hitherto  remained  uncorrected,  while 
vain  efforts  have  been  made  to  extract  sense  from  the  pas- 
sage. Theobald  dropped  *  no  : '  Steevens  changed  it  to 
«  not ' :  Malone  read  "  Yet  reason  diu-es  her  ?  —  no." 

"  " bears  up  a  credent  bulk  "  :  —  This  needs  no  ex- 

planation. It  is  the  correction  of  an  easy  typographical 
error  in  the  folio, — "bears  of  &  credent  bulk," — which 
has  hitherto  been  endured,  or  cured  by  reading  "  bears  off 
a  credent  bulk"  or  "  here's  of  a  credent  bulk,"  or  by  bold- 
ly dropping  the  particle  altogether.  Anyelo's  thought  is 
plainly,  that  his  position  and  reputation  will  sustain  his 
denial  of  any  scaiidalous  story. 

Scene  V. 

p.  87.  Dr.  Johnson  thought,  not  -w-ithout  some  appearance  of 
reason,  that  this  Act  should  end  with  Scene  IV.,  "  for  here 
is  properly  a  cessation  of  action,  and  a  night  intervenes, 
and  the  place  is  changed,  between  the  passages  of  this  Scene 
(IV.)  and  those  of  the  next.  The  next  Act,  beginning 
with  the  following  Scene,  (V.,)  proceeds  without  any  in- 
terruption of  time  or  place."  But  Shakespeare  cared  com- 
paratively little  for  such  considerations.  By  the  origmal 
division  of  the  Acts,  which  has  been  preser\-ed,  ■\\-ith  Act  V. 
begins  a  grand  and  entirely  ncAV  dramatic  interest  —  that  at- 
taching to  the  exposiu-c  of  Amjelo.  Up  to  the  conclusion  of 
the  next  and  last  Scene  of  the  present  Act  (IV.)  we  see  the 
toils  of  the  Friar-Duke  dosing  round  his  victim  :  after  that 
there  is  no  further  plotting,  and  no  disguise,  except  the 
momentarj"  one  necessary  to  the  complete  working  out  of 


6C.  I.  NOTES.  131 

former  designs.  A  clock  and  a  good  memory  ■noil  preserve 
the  unities  of  time  and  place,  or  detect  their  violation ;  but 
for  the  preservation  of  the  far  more  important  unity  of 
dramatic  interest,  it  is  better  to  trust  to  Shakespeare. 

Scene  VI. 

p.  89.       "  Have  hent"  :  —  taken  possession  of:  from  the  A.  S. 
'  hentan,'  '  to  seize.' 


ACT    FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  89.  "  Enter,  severalli/  "  :  —  The  folio  directs,  "  Enter  at  sev- 
eral doors,"  all  entrances  being  made  from  doors  on  Shake- 
speare's stage,  from  want  of  scenery.  In  the  folio,  too, 
Friar  Peter  and  Isabella  are  not  dii-ected  to  enter  until  just 
as  the  former  says  "  Now  is  your  time  ;  "  but  though  the 
play-^^Tight  was  obUged  thus  to  conform  to  the  limited 
space  on  which  his  characters  appeai-ed,  we  know,  from  the 
foregoing  Scene,  that  the  poet  had  in  his  mind's  eye  the 
arrangement  indicated  in  this  stage  direction. 

"  " yield  forth  to  ymi  public  thanks  "  :  —  The  foho  has 

"  j-ield  you  forth  to  "  —  an  evident  transposition.  The 
Duke  pelded  Angela  forth  to  no  pubUc  thanks  ;  but  he 
gave  him  his  own  thanks  pubHcly.  See  the  first  two  lines 
of  his  next  speech. 

p.  91.       " characts  "  :  —  characters,  outward  seeming. 

"  "As  e'er  I  heard"  :  —  'As'  for  'that '  :  the  construc- 

tion being,  — '  Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense 
that  e'er  I  heard  in  madness '  —  the  intervening  line  being 
interjectional. 

"  " for  inequality  "  :  —  for  apparent  inconsistency  ;  as 

we  say  that  one  part  of  a  story  does  not  square  with  another. 

"  '< the  false  seems  true  "  :  —  '  Which '  is  vmderstood ; 

but  some  suppose  that  "  seems  true  "  is  a  compoimd  word 
for  vraisemblable,  '  true-seermng.' 

p.  92.       "  How  he  refell'd  me  "  :  —  refuted  me. 

p.  93.  "  O,  that  it  were  as  like,  as  it  is  true  "  :  —  That  is,  '  as 
likely  to  be  believed.'  ITie  Duke,  thro'\\'ing  doubt  upon 
her  assertion,  says,  ironically,  "  This  is  most  hkely  [to  be 
true] ;  "  and  she,  knowing  it  to  be  virtually  true,  and  ^^ish- 
ing  it  to  be  so  received,  replies,  "  O,  that  it  were  as  like, 
[to  be  believed]  as  it  is  true  !  "  Of  course,  whether  it  were 
all  actually  true  or  not,  she  could  not  wish  that  it  were  at  aU 
'likelv  to  be  U-ue.' 


132      MEASUEE  FOR  MEASURE.   act  v, 

p.  93.       " with  ripened  time  "  :  —  The  last  syllable  of  this 

word  is  not  contracted  in  the  folio :  it  was  pronounced  ripe- 
ned, not  ri-pe7i-ed  :  hitherto  the  editors  have  contracted  it. 

p.  94.  "  This  '  a  good  friar  "  :  —  The  apostrophe  marks  the 
elision  of  '  is  ;  '  as  in  "  What  '  fool "  for  '  what  a  fool.' 
Ttco  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  I.  Sc.  2, 

p.  95.       " let  her  shew  her  face  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  your," 

an  easy  misprint  for  '  her,'  when  h  had  a  bow  below  the 
line  like  y,  and  o  could  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  e. 

p.  97.       "  informal  women  "  —  ill  regulated,    distracted 

women.    See  Note  on  "  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again," 
Cumedy  of  Errors,  Act  V.  Sc.  1. 
"  "  And  punish  them  [?«i]<o  your  height  of  pleasure." 

The  folio  has  "  to  "  —  an  eiTor,  as  the  rhythm  shows. 

p.  98.  "  Cucullus  nan  facit  niotiachum  "  :  —  The  cowl  does  not 
make  the  monk. 

p.  100.  "Nor  here  provincial"  :  —  of  this  pro\'ince,  and  sub- 
ject to  its  ciAoL  or  ecclesiastical  authorities. 

"  " forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop  "  :  —  It  is  only  of  late 

in  America,  that  the  fashion  of  lounging  in  a  barber's 
shop  has  entii-ely  gone  out ;  and  Dr.  Kenrick  states,  in 
his  Suffolk  IVords,  that,  in  1750,  he  saw  a  metrical  list  of 
forfeits  in  a  baiber's  shop  to  be  enforced  against  those  who 
meddled  with  the  razors  or  surgical  instruments  ;  for  bar- 
bers were  surgeons  of  old.  We  may  well  beheve  that  these 
forfeits  were  "  as  much  in  mock  as  mark." 

p.  101.  "  II ark  how  the  villain  would  fflose  now"  : — how  he 
would  smooth  over  his  treasonable  abuses.  The  folio  has 
"  close,"  an  evident  misprmt,  as  the  Duke  shows  no  inten- 
tion to  close  the  discussion, —  yet  hitherto  retained. 

"  " giglots  "  ;  —  loose  girls. 

"  " that  e'er  mad'st  a  duke  "  :  —  So  the  original ; 

generally  changed  to  '  made.' 

p.  102.      " rash  remo7istrance"  : — used  in  its  radical  sense 

of  '  showing  again.'  It  is  only  of  compai-ativcly  late  years 
that  this  Avord  has  come  to  mean  '  expostidation.' 

p.  101.      " by  confiscation  "  ;  —  The  folio  has  "confutation," 

which  was  corrected  in  the  second  foho  —  a  change  that 
hardly  merits  notice. 

p.  107.  "If  any  looman's  wrong'd  "  :  —  In  the  folio,  "any 
woman." 

p.  108.  " that's  meet  you  all  should  know  "  :  —  The  origi- 
nal has  "  that  meet." 


THE    COMEDY    OF    ERRORS. 


(i^^) 


The  Comedie  of  Errors  occupies  sixteen  pages  in  the  folio  of 
1623,  viz.,  from  p.  85  to  p.  100  inclusive,  in  the  division  of 
Comedies.  It  is  there  divided  into  Acts,  but  not  into  Scenes. 
At  the  head  of  the  first,  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  Acts,  however, 
"  Scena  Prima"  appears.  There  is  no  list  of  Dramatis  Perso- 
nse,  -which  was  first  supplied  by  Howe. 


(134) 


THE     COMEDY    OF    ERRORS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THERE  is  no  doubt  that  The  Comedy  of  Errors  is  an  imita- 
tion of  the  MentBchmi  of  Plautus  ;  but  the  question  whether 
the  imitation  was  direct  or  indirect  has  not  been  decided.  We 
know,  fi-om  the  Record  of  the  Revels  at  Court,  that  a  play  called 
The  History  of  Error  was  in  existence  in  the  year  1576-7 ;  for 
among  the  entries  for  that  year  is  the  following  :  — 

"  The  Historic  of  Error,  shewn  at  Hampton  Court  on  New 
yeres  dale  at  night,  enacted  by  the  children  of  Pawles." 

Malone,  who  first  directed  attention  to  this  memorandum,  also 
pointed  out  a  passage  in  the  Gesta  Grayorum  —  a  contemporary 
record  of  the  festivities  at  Gray's  Inn,  published  in  1688  —  which 
shows  that  "  a  Comedy  of  Errors,  like  to  Plautus  his  Menech- 
mus,  was  played  by  the  players  "  during  the  Christmas  Revels 
at  that  venerable  Inn  of  Court  in  December,  1594:.  In  1595 
there  was  published  in  London  a  free  translation  of  the  Menmch- 
nii.*  Finally,  Meres  gives  us  evidence  that  Shakespeare's  Co7n- 
edy  of  Errors  was  WTitten  at  least  as  early  as  1597.  These  are 
aU  the  facts  on  record  from  which  we  can  determine  the  origin 
of  this  comedy  or  the  date  of  its  production ;  but  as  the  old 
History  of  Error  is  entirely  lost,  and  as  we  do  not  know  whether 
the  play  at  Gray's  Inn  was  Shakespeare's  Comedy  or  the  older 
History,  we  are  unable  to  decide  from  these  data  whether  Shake- 

*  "  A  pleasant  and  fine  Conceited  Comoedie,  taken  out  of  the  most  excellent 
wittie  Poet  Plautus :  Chosen  purposely  from  out  the  rest,  as  least  harmefuU, 
and  yet  most  delightfull.  Written  in  English  by  W.  W.  —  London,  Printed  by 
Tho.  Creede,  and  are  to  be  sold  by  William  Barley,  at  his  shop  in  Gratious 
streete.    1595."     4to. 

This  W.  W.  is  supposed  by  Anthony  Wood,  in  his  Athenm  Oxonienses,  to  have 
been  William  Warner,  the  author  of  Album's  England,  a  sort  of  chronicle  in 
verse,  first  published  at  London  in  1586.    4to. 

(135) 


136  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS. 

speare's  play  existed  in  any  form  before  the  publication  of  the 
translation  from  Plautiis. 

Of  internal  evidence  upon  this  subject  there  is  very  little,  and 
that  not  of  much  w^eight.  Dromio's  reply  to  Antipholus,  Act  III. 
Sc.  2,  that  he  found  France  in  the  forehead  of  the  globe-like  dame 
M-ho  asserted  uxorial  rights  over  him,  "  armed  and  reverted,* 
making  war  against  her  heir,"  is,  however,  so  plainly  a  pun- 
ning allusion  to  the  war  of  the  League,  which  was  closed  by 
Henry  IV. 's  apostasy  in  1593,  that  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt 
as  to  the  existence  of  the  passage  before  that  date.  For  although 
it  is  true  that  '  heire  '  might  be  a  misprint  or  loose  spelling  of 
'  haire,'  to  which  it  is  changed  m.  the  folio  of  1632,  the  allu- 
sion yet  exists  iu  as  full  force,  in  the  otherwise  senseless  words 
"  armed  and  reverted,  making  war,"  and  the  pun  remains  with 
a  diiferent  spelling.  The  likeness  between  the  phraseology  of 
the  translated  Menachmi  and  The  Comedy  of  Errors  is  very 
slight  indeed  ;  and  all  other  similarity  is  due,  of  course,  to  the 
origmal.  Adriana  says,  Act  II.  Sc.  1,  '♦  poor  I  am  but  his 
stale,"  and  the  "Wife  in  the  translated  Men<echmi  says,  "  He 
makes  me  a  stale  and  a  laughing  stock  "  :  "W.  W.  translates, 

" nunc  ibo  in  tabemam  :  vasa  et  argentum  tibi 


Referam," 

"  He  go  strait  to  the  Iiuie,  and  deliver  up  my  accounts,  and  all 
j'our  stuffe,"  and  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  says,  "  Come  to  the 
Centaur;  fetch  our  stuff  from  thence;"  and  although  'stuff' 
and  '  stale '  were  generally  used  in  Shakespeare's  time  as  they 
are  here  used,  in  these  speeches  they  have  somewhat  the  air  of 
reminiscences. 

That  the  author  of  The  Comedy  of  Errors  knew  the  story  of 
the  Mencpchmi,  needs,  of  coiirse,  no  setting  forth;  but  that  he 
had  studied  it  closely,  either  in  the  original  or  in  a  translation, 
is  evident  from  similarity  in  minor  points  between  the  plays.  In 
Ijoth  the  resident  brother  is  married  ;  m  both  the  wife  is  shrew- 
ish ;  in  both  she  has  brought  her  husband  a  large  dowry ;  in  both 
the  Courtesan  appears ;  and  in  both  the  resident  brother  seeks 
refuge  at  her  table  from  the  jealous  clamors  of  his  wife ;  the 
incident  of  the  chain  is  common  to  both,  and  is  used  by  each 
dramatist,  though  with  a  difference,  for  the  same  purpose ;  in 

*  A  misprint,  left  uncorrected  here,  will  be  noticed  hereafter. 


\ 


INTRODUCTION.  137 

both  the  wandering  brother  gives  his  purse  to  his  servant  to  be 
carried  to  the  inn ;  in  both  the  wife,  on  accovmt  of  the  beha- 
vior of  his  double,  finally  supposes  her  husband  to  be  lunatic, 
and  in  the  one  case  sends  and  in  the  other  brings  a  leech  to  take 
him  in  charge,  who  in  both  encounters  the  husband  himself.     It 
is  also  noteworthy  that  in  the  first  stage  directions  of  the  origi- 
nal, one  Antipholus  is  called  "Errotis"  and  the  other  "  Sereptus," 
—  misprints,  doubtless,  for  '  Erraticus'  and  '  Surreptus,' — mean- 
ing *  wandering '   and  '  stolen.'     Now,  in  The  Comedy  of  Ei-rors 
the  resident  brother  is  not  stolen,  but  in  the  Meneechmi  he  is,  and 
is  designated  as  Surrepttis ;  and  the  traveller,  who  is  not  called 
Erraticus  in  Plautus'  Dramatis  Persons;,  but  Sosicles,  is,  however, 
called  'the  Traveller'  in  W.  W.'s  translation.     This  transla- 
tion, although  not  published  until  1595,  had  then  been  made 
and  handed  about  for  some  time,  as  we  know  by  the  address  of 
"  The  Printer  to  the  Readers  "  which  introduces  it.     In  this  he 
says,  or,  without  doubt,  the  author  for   him,  —  "  The  writer 
hereof  (loving  Readers)  having  diverse  of  this  Poettes  Comedies 
Englished,  for  the  use  and  delight  of  his  private  friends,  who  in 
Plautus  o-wne  words  are  not  able  to  understand  then-  ;  I  have 
prevailed  so  far  with  him  as  to  let  this  one  go  farther  abnwd,"  &c. 
In  the  absence  of  evidence  which  amounts  to  proof,  we  may 
yet  form  an  opinion  ;   and  my  own,  based  upon  a  consideration 
of  the  facts  just  stated  and  of  the  play  itself,  is,  that  Shake- 
speare, at  the  very  beginning  of  his  dramatic  career,  wishing  to 
supply  his  theatre  with  an  amusing  comedy  to  take  the  place  of 
a  rude  imitation  of  the  Meneechmi,  already  somewhat  knoA\-n  to 
the  public,  read  that  play  in  the  original  as  thoroughly  as  his 
"  small  Latin  "  (small  in  the  estimation  of  so  complete  a  scholar 
as  Jonson)  enabled  him  to  read  it ;  that  he  also  read  W.  W.'s 
translation  in  manuscript ;   and  that  then,  using  for  the  more 
comic  parts  the  doggerel  verse  in  which  the  elder  play  was  Avrit- 
ten,  for  the  passages  of  sentiment  the  alternate  rhjTues  of  which 
Venus  and  Adonis  and  Romeo  and  Juliet  show  his  early  preference 
and  his  mastery,  and  for  the  serious  Scenes  the  blank  verse  which 
he  was  thfe  first  to  bring  to  perfection,  and  which  appears  in 
great  though  not  yet  matured  beauty  in  The  Tioo  Gentlemen  of 
Verona,  he  wrote   The  Comedy  of  Errors :  that,  in  the  extrav- 
agant  Scenes,  he  deliberately  imitated,  populo  ut  placeret,  the 
versification  of  the  old  play,  and  perhaps  adopted  some  of  it 
with  improvement ;  that  this  was  done  about  1589-90 ;  and  that 

l2 


138  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS. 

the  play  thus  produced  may  have  been  somewhat  re'm-itteii  by 
him  in  its  first  and  last  Scenes  in  the  long  period  during  which 
it  remained  unprinted  in  the  possession  of  the  theatre. 

It  is  to  be  observ'ed  that  although  the  poetical  value  of  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  is  much  greater  than  that  of  The 
Comedy  of  Errors,  the  dramatic  arrangement  of  the  latter  is 
much  more  skilful,  and  indicates  longer  theatrical  experience 
on  the  part  of  the  author. 

The  difference  between  the  comedy  of  the  Latin  and  that  of 
the  English  dramatist  is  very  wide,  both  in  the  way  of  addition 
and  alteration ;  the  most  important  addition  being  thal-of  an->. 
other  pair  of  twins  as  attendants  upon  thnir  nhn  figmr  in  fiir 
•"■Latin  pla^  The  iiitroduction  of  these  tends  greatly  to  compli- 
^  cate  the  confusion  out  of  which  the  fun  of  this  extravaganza 
arises.  Whether  the  thought  M-as  original  \\-ith  Shakespeare  or 
was  taken  from  the  old  play,  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining ; 
but  in  the  use  made  of  the  bondsmen  we  recognize  the  younger 
hand  of  him  in  whose  maturer  works  his  perception  of  the  ridic- 
ulous and  enjoyment  of  the  broadest  humor  are  no  less  appar- 
ent than  his  delight  in  all  that  is  grand  and  beautiful  in  Man 
and  Nature.  Yet  the  very  passages  in  which  the  Dromios  are 
most  prominent  are  those  which  seem  most  unmistakably  the 
production  of  an  inferior  and  more  ancient  ^\Titer.  How  diffi- 
cvdt  is  it  to  believe  that  the  rhj-ming  part  of  Act  III.  Sc.  1,  for 
instance,  was  written,  at  any  time  or  for  any  purpose,  by  the 
author  of  the  fbie  blank  verse  which  precedes  and  follows  it ! 
It  is  more  than  possible  that  the  two  slaves  were  added  in  the 
older  play  to  doubly  supply  the  clown  or  buffoon,  without  which, 
on  our  ancient  stage,  a  comedy  was  not  a  comedy.  J]]  fhp  gii|^ 
stitution  of  Luciana,  the  sister  of  Adriana,  for  the  Father  of  the 
Latin  comedy,  we  very  surely  have  an  indication  of  Shakespeare's 
dramatic  skill ;  the  expostulations  which  he  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  the  young  woman  are  far  more  convincing  and  to  the  purpose  \ 
than  the  reproaches  which  Plautus  makes  the  old  man  deal  out  J 
to  both  husband  and  wife.  The  mtroduction  of  Luciana  also 
enabled  the  author  to  estabhsh,  in  the  relations  between  her 
and  Antipholus  of  SjTacuse,  a  new  interest  entirely  wanting  to 
the  Latin  play.  The  Parasite,  who  figures  so  largely  in  the 
Mencechmi,  as  in  all  Latin  comedies,  is  omitted,  as  a  character 
altogether  foreign  to  the  taste  of  an  English  audience,  and  need- 
less to  the  production  of  that  confusion  which  is  the  only  motive 


s 


INTRODUCTION.  13S 

of  Shakespeare's  play ;  in  Avliich,  too,  the  action  is  more  intri- 
cate than  in  its  model,  the  movement  more  rapid,  and  the  spirit 
much  more  lively,  light,  and  humorous. 

Concerning  the  place  and  the  period  of  the  action  of  this  play, 
it  seems  that  Shakespeare  did  not  trouble  himself  to  form  a  very 
accurate  idea.  The  Ephesus  of  The  Comedy  of  Errors  is  much 
like  the  Bohemia  of  The  Winter's  Tale — a  remntp.  iinknn^\-n 
place,  yet  -with  a  familiar  and  imposing  name,  and  therefore 
well  suited  to  the  purposes  of  one  who  as  poet  and  dramatist 
c^Ed^much  for  men  and  little  lor  tilings,  and  to  whose  percep- 
tkiil  ILk'  accldemtll  waii  bliLllt^ly  eclipsed  by  the  essential.  An- 
achronisras  are  scattered  tiirough  it  with  a  prolusion  which  could 
only  be  the  result  of  entire  indifference  —  in  fact,  of  an  absolute 
want  of  thought  upon  the  subject.  The  existence  of  an  abbey 
in  Ephesus,  however,  is  not  to  be  considered  as  among  them. 
Eor  Christianity  was  established  there  about  the  middle  of  the 
fourth  century ;  and  Ephesus  remained  a  Greek  and  Christian 
city  till  about  A.  D.  1313.  The  action  of  the  play  may,  per- 
haps, be  referred  to  about  the  middle  of  this  period. 

The  choice  of  costume  is  in  a  great  measure  arbitrary.  The 
fwins  must  of  course  be  attired  in  pairs  alike,  else  they  could 
not  be  mistaken  for  each  other  ;  and  the  improbability,  extend- 
ing to  impossibility,  that  one  master  and  servant  should  arrive 
in  Ephesus  dressed  just  as  their  doubles  were  on  the  day  of  their 
arrival,  is  a  postulate  permitted  in  the  construction  of  a  farce 
like  this.  Any  ancient  Natolian  costume  is  admissible  for  the 
principal  characters ;  and  dramatic  propriety  will  not  be  vio- 
lated by  giving  to  Balthasar  and  the  friend  of  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse  the  dress  of  Italian  merchants,  and  to  Pinch  that  of 
an  English  schoolmaster,  or  leech,  or  conjurer  of  Shakespeare's 
day.  But  an  entirelj'  conventional  costume  may  be  adopted  ; 
the  only  object  being  to  remove  the  action  out  of  the  present 
and  the  actual. 

The  text,  the  only  source  of  which  is  the  first  foho,  exists 
there  in  a  state  approaching  purity,  the  errors  being  altogether 
due  to  the  accidents  of  the  printing  office,  and,  generally,  easy 
of  correction.  Some  were,  however,  left  to  be  for  the  lirst  time 
rectified  in  this  edition. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

SoLiNXJS,  Duke  of  Ephesus. 

^GEON,  a  Merchant  of  Syracuse. 

AxTiPHOLUS  of  Ephesus,  1  Twiti    Brothers,    Sons    to  ■ 

Antipholtts  of  Syracuse,  J      iEgeon  and  Emilia. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus.  |  Twin  Brothers,  Attendants  on 

Dromio  of  Syracuse,]      the  two  Antiplioluses. 

Balthazar,  a  Merchant. 

Angelo,  a  Goldsmith. 

A  Merchant,  Friend  to  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

A  Merchant,   Creditor    of  Angelo. 

Pinch,  a  Schoolmaster. 

-(Emilia,   Wife  to  ^geon. 

Adriana,   Wife  to  Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

LuciANA,  her  Sister. 

Luce,  Servant  to  Adriana. 

A  Courtezan. 

Gaoler,  Officers,  and  other  Attendants. 

SCENE:   Ephesus. 

(140) 


THE    COMEDY   OF   ERRORS. 


ACT    I. 

ScEXE  I.  —  A  Hall  in  the  Dttke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke  of  Ephesus,  JEgeon,  Gaoler,  Officers, 
and  other  Attendants. 


P 


ROCEED,   Solinus,  to  procure  my  fall, 


And,  by  the  doom  of  death,'  end  woes  and  all. 
Duke.     Merchant  of  Syracusa,  plead  no  more. 
I  am  not  partial,  to  infringe  our  laws  : 
The  enmity  and  discord,  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  Duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen,  — 
Who,  wanting  guilders  to  redeem  their  lives. 
Have  seal'd  his  rigorous  statutes  with  their  bloods,  — 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threat' ning  looks. 
For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
'Twixt   thy  seditious  countrymen  and  us. 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed, 
Both  by  the  Syracusians  and  ourselves. 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns  : 
Nay,  more,  if  any,  born  at  Ephesus, 

(141) 


142        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.      ACT  I. 

Be  seen  at  Syracusian  marts  and  fairs, — 

Again,  if  any  Syracusian  born 

Come  to  the  bay  of  Ephesus,  be  dies  ; 

His  goods  confiscate  to  the  Duke's  dispose, 

Unless  a  thousand  marks  be  levied, 

To  quit  the  penalty,  and  to  ransom  him. 

Thy  substance,  valued  at  the  highest  rate. 

Cannot  amount  unto  a  hundred  marks  ; 

Therefore,  by  law  thou  art  condemn' d  to  die. 

■^'Ege.     Yet  this  my  comfort ;  when  your  words  are 
done. 
My  woes  end  likewise  with  the  evening  sun. 

Duke.     Well,   Syracusian ;    say,  in  brief,  the  cause 
"Why  thou  departedst  from  thy  native  home. 
And  for  what  cause  thou  cam'st  to  Ephesus. 

^ge.     A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  impos'd, 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable  ; 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness,  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  I  born,   and  wed 
Unto  a  woman,  happy  but  for  me. 
And  by  me  [too],  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
With  her  I  liv'd  in  joy  :    our  wealth  increas'd, 
By  prosperous  voyages  I  often  made 
To  Epidamnum,  till  my  factor's  death, 
And  the  great  care  of  goods  at  random  left. 
Drew  me  from  kind  embracements  of  my  spouse  : 
From  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  months  old. 
Before  herself  (almost  at  fainting  under 
The  pleasing  punishment  that  women  bear) 
Had  made  provision  for  her  following  me. 
And  soon,  and  safe,  arrived  where  I  was. 
There  had  she  not  been  long,  but  she  became 
A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons  ; 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  143 

And,  whicli  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  other, 

As  could  not  be  distinguish'd  but  by  names. 

That  very  hour,  and  in  the  self-same  inn, 

A  meaner  woman  was  delivered 

Of  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike. 

Those,  for  their  parents  were  exceeding  poor, 

I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 

My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys. 

Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return  : 

Unwilling,  I  agreed.    Alas,  too  soon  we  came  aboard  ! 

A  league  from  Epidamnum  had  we  sail'd, 

Before  the  always-wind-obeying  deep 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope  ; 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  grant 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which,   though  myself  would  gladly  have  embrac'd. 

Yet  the  incessant  weepings  of  my  wife. 

Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come, 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes, 

That  mourn' d  for  fashion,  ignorant  wbat  to  fear, 

Forc'd  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was,  —  for  other  means  was  none.  — 

The  sailors  sought  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking-ripe,  to  us. 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  latter-born. 

Had  fasten'd  him  unto  a  small  spare  mast, 

Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms  : 

To  him  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound, 

Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 

The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 

Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  care  was  fix'd, 

Fasten'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast. 

And,  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream. 


144  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  ACT  i. 

Were  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 
At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 
Dispers'd  those  vapours  that  offended  us. 
And  by  the  benefit  of  his  wish'd  light 
The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 
Two  ships,  from  far  making  amain  to  us  ; 
Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this : 
But  ere  they  came,  —  O,  let  me  say  no  more  ! 
Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before. 

Duke.    Nay,  forward,  old  man  :   do  not  break  off  so  ; 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

^ge.     O,  had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  merciless  to  us  ! 
For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet,  by  twice  five  leagues, 
We  were  encounter' d  by  a  mighty  rock, 
Which  being  violently  borne  upon. 
Our  helpful  ship  Avas  splitted  in  the  midst ; 
So  that,  in  this  unjust  divorce  of  us. 
Fortune  had  left  to  both  of  us  alike 
What  to  delight  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 
Her  part,  poor  soul !  seeming  as  burdened 
With  lesser  weight,  but  not  with  lesser  woe, 
Was  carried  with  more  speed  before  the  wind ; 
And  in  our  sight  they  three  were  taken  up 
By  fishermen  of  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 
At  length  another  ship  had  seiz'd  on  us  ; 
And  knowing  whom  it  was  their  hap  to  save. 
Gave  healthful  welcome  to  their  shipwrack'd  guests. 
And  would  have  reft  the  fishers  of  their  prey, 
Had  not  their  bark  been  very  slow  of  sail ; 
And  therefore  homeward  did  they  bend  their  course.  — 
Thus  have  you  heard  me  sever'd  from  my  bliss, 
That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  prolonged, 
To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps. 

Duke.    And,  for  the  sake  of  them  thou  sorrowest  for, 


sc.   I.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  145 

Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 

What  hath  befaU'n  of  them,  and  thee,  till  now. 

^ge.     My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  care. 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother,  and  importun'd  me,  ' 

That  his  attendant  (so  his  case  was  like, 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retain'd  his  name) 
Might  bear  him  company  in  the  quest  of  him  ; 
Whom  whilst  I  labour' d  of  a  love  to  see, 
I  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  I  lov'd. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  farthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean  through  the  bounds  of  Asia  ; 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Ephesus, 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loath  to  leave  unsought 
Or  that,  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  the  story  of  my  life  ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death. 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  me  they  live. 

Duke.     Hapless    yEgeon,    Avhom    the    Fates    have 
mark'd 
To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap  ! 
Now,  trust  me,  were  it  not  against  our  laws, 
Against  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity, 
AVhich  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul. 
My  soul  should  sue  as  advocate  for  thee. 
But  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the  death. 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recalled 
But  to  our  honour's  great  disparagement. 
Yet  will  I  favour  thee  in  what  I  can  : 
Therefore,,  merchant,  I'll  limit  thee  this  day, 
To  seek  thy  [life]  by  beneficial  help. 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Ephesus  ; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum. 
And  live  ;    if  no,  then  thou  art  doom'd  to  die.  — 

Gaoler,   take  him  to  thy  custody. 
VOL.  in.  J 


146  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   i. 

Gaoler.     I  will,  my  lord. 

■^ge.     Hopeless,  and  helpless,  doth  _35geoii  wend, 
But  to  procrastinate  his  liveless  end.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  II. 

A  public  Place. 

Enter  Antipholus   and   Dkomio   of  Syracuse,   and 

a  Merchant. 

Merchant.     Therefore,  give    out    you    are    of   Epi- 
damnum, 
Lest  that  your  goods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day,  a  Syracusian  merchant 
Is  apprehended  for  arrival  here  ; 
And,  not  being  able  to  buy  out  his  life, 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town, 
Dies  ere  the  weary  sun  set  in  the  west. 
There  is  your  money  that  I  had  to  keep. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse.     Go,  bear  it   to  the  Cen- 
taur, where  we  host, 
And  stay  there,   Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time : 
Till  that,  I'll  view  the  manners  of  the  town. 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
And  then  return  and  sleep  within  mine  inn, 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stiff  and  weary. 
Get  thee  away. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse.     Many  a  man  would  take  you 
at  your  word, 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean.  \^Exit. 

Ant.  S.     A  trusty  villain,   sir  ;    that  very  oft, 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy. 
Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 


sc.   II.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  147 

What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me  ? 

Mer.     I  am  invited,   sir,  to  certain  merchants. 
Of  whom  I  hope  to  make  much  benefit  ; 
I  crave  your  pardon.     Soon  at  five  o'clock. 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart, 
And  afterwards  consort  you  till  bed-time  : 
My  present  business  calls  me  from  you  now. 

Ant.  S.     Farewell   till    then.     I   will   go   lose   mv- 
self. 
And  wander  up  and  down  to  view  the  city. 

Mer.     Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content, 

[^Exit. 

Ant.  S.     He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own  con- 
tent, 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get. 
I,  to  the  world,  am  like  a  drop  of  water 
That,  in  the  ocean,  seeks  another  drop  ; 
Who,  falling  there  to  find  his  fellow  forth. 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  I,  to  find  a  mother  and  a  brother. 
In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose   myself. 

Enter  Dkomio  of  Ephesus. 

Here  comes  the  almanack  of  my  true  date.  — 
What  now  ?     How  chance  thou  art  return'd  so  soon  : 
Dromio  of  Ephesus.     Return'd  so  soon!  rather  ap- 
proach'd  too  late. 
The  capon  burns,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit. 
The  clock  hath  strucken  twelve  upon  the  bell ; 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek  : 
She  is  so  hot,  because  the  meat  is  cold  ; 
The  meat  is  cold,  because  you  come  not  home  ; 
You  come  not  home,  because  you  have  no  stomach ; 
You  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  fast ; 


148        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.      act  i. 

But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray, 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Ant.  S.      Stop  in  your  wind,   sir.     Tell  me  this,  I 
pray; 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you  ? 

Dro.  E.     O  !    sixpence,  that   I   had   o'  Wednesday 
last 
To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  crupper. 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir ;    I  kept  it  not. 

Ant.  S.     I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now. 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money  ? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

Dro.  E.     I  pray  you,  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner. 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post  ; 
If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed. 
For  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate. 
Methinks,  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your  clock, 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 

Ant.  S.     Come,  Dromio,  come  ;  these  jests  are  out 
of  season  : 
Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this. 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ? 

Dro.  E.    To  me,   sir  ?    why,  you   gave   no    gold   to 
me. 

Ant.  S.     Come  on,  sir  knave  ;  have  done  your  fool- 
ishness. 
And  tell  me  how  thou  hast  dispos'd  thy  charge. 

Dro.  E.     My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from  the 
mart 
Home  to  your  house,  the  Phcenix,  sir,  to  dinner. 
My  mistress,  and  her  sister,  stay  for  you. 

Ant.  S.     Now,   as  I   am  a   Christian,  answer  me. 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  money. 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce  of  yours, 


SC.   II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  149 

That  stands  on  tricks  wlicn  I  am  nndispos'd. 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  me  ? 

Dro.  E.    I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my  pate  ; 
Some  of  my  mistress'  marks  vipon  my  shoulders, 
But  not  a  thovisand  marks  between  you  both. 
If  I   should  pay  your  worship  those  again, 
Perchance,  you  will  not  bear  them  patiently. 

Ant.  S.    Thy  mistress'  marks  !  what  mistress,  slave, 

hast  thou  ? 
Dro.  E.     Your  worship's  wife,  my  mistress  at  the 
Phoenix  ; 
She  that  doth  fast  till  you  come  home  to  dinner, 
And  prays  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner. 
Ant.  S.     What,  wilt  thou  flout  me  thus  unto  my 
face. 
Being  forbid  ?     There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 

\_Strikes  him. 
Dro.  E.    What  mean  you,  sir  ?  for  God's  sake,  hold 
your  hands. 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels.     \^Exit. 

Ant.  S.     Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other 
The  villain  is  o'er-raught  of  all  my  money. 
They  say,  this  town  is  full  of  cozenage  ; 
As,  nimble  jugglers  that  deceive  the  eye. 
Dark-working  sorcerers  that  change  the  mind, 
Soul-killing  witches  that  deform  the  body. 
Disguised  cheaters,  prating  mountebanks. 
And  many  such  like  liberties  of  sin  : 
If  it  prove 'SO,  I  will  be  gone  the  sooner. 
I'll  to  the -Centaur  to  go  seek  this  slave  : 
I  greatly  fear  my  money  is  not  safe.  [_Exit, 


150  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  il. 

ACT    II. 

Scene  I.  —  Court  in  the  House  of  Antipholus. 
Enter  Adkiana  and  Luciana. 

Adeiai^a. 

NEITHER  my  husband,  nor  the  slave  return'd, 
That  in  such  haste  I  sent  to  seek  his  master  ? 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 

Luciana.     Perhaps,    some    merchant    hath    invited 
him. 
And  from  the   mart  he's  somewhere  gone  to  dinner. 
Good  sister,  let  us  dine,  and  never  fret. 
A  man  is  master  of  his  liberty  : 
Time  is  their  master  ;    and,  when  they  see  time. 
They'll  go,  or  come :    if  so,  be  patient,  sister. 

Adr.     Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more  ? 

Luc.     Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'  door. 

Adr.     Look,  when  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  [ill]. 

Luc.     O  !  know  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  Avill. 

Adr.     There's  none  but  asses  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc.     Why,  headstrong  liberty  is  lash'd  with  woe 
There's  nothing,  situate  under  Heaven's  eye. 
But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky  : 
The  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls. 
Are  their  males'   subjects,  and  at  their  controls. 
Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these. 
Lords  of  the  wide  world  and  wild  wat'ry  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls. 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls, 
—Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords  : 
Then,  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  151 

Adr.     This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Luc.     Not  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage-bed. 

Adr.     But,  were  you  wedded,  you  w'ould  bear  some 
sway. 

Luc.     Ere  I  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.     How  if  your  husband  start  some  other  where  ? 

Luc.     Till  he  come  home  again,  I  would   forbear. 

Adr.     Patience    unmov'd,    no    marvel    though    she 
pause  ; 
They  can  be  meek  that  have  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity, 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  w^e  hear  it  cry  ; 
But  were  we  burden' d  with  like  weight  of  pain, 
As  much,  or  more,  we  should  ourselves  complain  ; 
So  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee. 
With  urging  helpless  patience  would'st  relieve  me: 
But  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft, 
This  fool-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Luc.  Well,  I  will  marry  one  day,  but  to  try.  — 
Here  comes  your  man :    now  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Enter  Dkomio  of  Ephesus. 

Adr.     Say,  is  your  tardy  master  now  at  hand  ? 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  is  at  two  hands  with  me,  and 
that  my  two  ears  can  witness. 

Adr.     Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  ?     Know'st 
thou  his  mind .'' 

Dro.  E.     Ay,    ay  ;    he    told   his    mind   upon    mine 
ear. 
Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 

Luc.  Spake  he  so  doubtfully,  thou  could' st  not  feel 
his  meaning  ? 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  struck  so  plainly,  I  could  too 
well  feel  his  blows  ;  and  withal  so  doubtfully,  that 
I  could  scarce  understand  them. 


152  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  ii. 

Adr.     But  say,  I  pr'ythee,  is  he  coming  home  ? 
It  seems,  he  hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 

Dro.  E.      Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn- 
mad. 

Adr.     Horn-mad,  thou  villain  ! 

Dro.  E.  I  mean  not  cuckold-mad  ; 

But,  sure,  he  is  stark  mad. 
When  I  desir'd  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold  : 
'Tis  dinner-time,   quoth  I ;    my  gold,   quoth  he : 
Your  meat  doth  burn,  quoth  I  ;   my  gold,  quoth  he  : 
Will  you  come  [home],  quoth  I  ?  my  gold,  quoth  he  : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  I  gave  thee,  villain  ? 
The  pig,   quoth  I,  is  burn'd  ;    my  gold,   quoth  he  : 
My  mistress,   sir,  quoth  I  ;    hang  up  thy  mistress  ; 
I  know  not  thy  mistress  ;    out  on  thy  mistress  ! 

Luc.     Quoth  who  ? 

Dro.  E.     Quoth  my  master  : 
I  know,   quoth  he,  no  house,  no  wdfe,  no  mistress. 
So  that  my  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bear  home  upon  my  shoulders  ; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adr.     Go   back   again,  thou   slave,   and   fetch  him 
home. 

Dro.  E.     Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  ? 
For  God's  sake,   send  some  other  messenger. 

Adr.     Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across. 

Dro.  E.     And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other 
beating. 
Between  you,  I  shall  have  a  holy  head. 

Adr.     Hence,  prating    peasant !    fetch    thy   master 
home. 

Dro.  E.     Am  I  so  round  with  you,  as  you  with  me. 
That  like  a  foot-ball  you  do  spurn  me  thus  ? 
You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  mc  hither : 


sc.   I.  '  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  153 

If.   I    last    in    this    service,     you    must    case    me    in 
leather.  \_Exit. 

Luc.     Fie,  how   impatience  low'reth  in  your  face ! 

Adr.     His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  age  th'  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek  ?    then  he  hath  v^^asted  it : 
Are  my  discourses  dull  ?    barren  my  wit  ? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  discourse  be  marr'd, 
Unkindness  blunts  it  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  their  gay  vestments  his  affections  bait  r 
That's  not  my  fault ;    he's  master  of  my  state. 
What  ruins  are  in  me,  that  can  be  found 
By  him  not  ruin'd  ?  then  is  he  the  ground 
Of  my  defeatures.     My  decayed   fair 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair  ;■ 
But,  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale, 
And  feeds  from  home  :   poor  I  am  but  his  stale. 

Luc.     Self-harming  jealousy!  —  fie!  beat  it  hence. 

Adr.     Unfeeling  fools  can  with  such  wrongs    dis- 
pense. 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  other  where. 
Or  else,  what  lets  it  but  he  would  be  here? 
Sister,  you  know  he  promis'd  me  a  chain  : 
Would  that  alone,   [alone]  he  would  detain, 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed  ! 
I  see,  the  jewel  best   enamelled 

Will  lose  his  beauty :   yet  though  gold  'bides  still. 
That  others  touch,  an  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold ;    and  no  man  that  hath  a  name, 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye, 
I'll  weep  what's  left  away,  and  weeping  die. 

Luc.     How  many  fond  fools   serve  mad  jealousy ! 

{^Exeunt. 

J2 


154        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     ACT  II. 

Scene  II. 
A  public  Place. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  S.     The  gold  I  gave  to  Dromio  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur ;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wander'd  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me   out. 
By  computation,  and  mine  host's   report, 
I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio,   since  at   first 
I  sent  him  from  the  mart.      See,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

How  now,   sir  ?   is  your  merry  humour  alter'd  ? 
As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
You  know  no  Centaur  ?     You  receiv'd  no  eold  ? 
Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner  ? 
My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix  ?     Wast  thou  mad. 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 

Dro.  S.     What  answer,  sir  ?  when  spake  I  such  a 

word  ? 
Ant.  S.     Even   now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour 

since. 
Dro.  S.     I    did   not    see    you    since    you    sent    me 
hence, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 

Ant.  S.     Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  receipt, 
And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dinner ; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 

Dro.  S.     I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein. 

What  means  this  jest?     I  pray  you,  master,  tell  me. 

A?it.  S.     Yea,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  flout  me  in  the 

teeth  ? 

Think'st  thou  I  jest?     Hold,  take  thou  that,  and  that. 

\_Beats  him. 


sc.   II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  155 

Dro.  S.     Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake !   now  your  jest 
is  earnest : 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 

Ant.  S.     Because  that  I  familiarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool,  and  chat  with  you, 
Your  sauciness  will  jest  upon  my  love. 
And  make  a  common  of  my  serious  hours. 
When  the  sun  shines  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creep  in  crannies  when  he  hides  his  beams. 
If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  aspect. 
And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

Dro.  S.  Sconce,  call  you  it  ?  so  you  would  leave 
battering,  I  had  rather  have  it  a  head  :  An  you  use 
these  blows  long,  I  must  get  a  sconce  for  my  head, 
and  insconce  it  too  ;  or  else  I  shall  seek  my  wit  in 
my  shoulders.      But,  I  pray,  sir,  why  am  I   beaten? 

Ant.  S.     Dost  thou  not  know  ? 

Dro.  S.     Nothing,  sir ;   but  that  I  am  beaten. 

A?it.  S.     Shall  I  tell  you  why? 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore ;  for,  they  say, 
every  why  hath  a  wherefore. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  first,  —  for  flouting  me  ;  and  then, 
wherefore,  —  for  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dro.  S.     Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out 
of  season. 
When    in    the    why    and    the   wherefore    is    neither 

rhyme  nor  reason  ?  — 
Well,  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Ant.  S.'    Thank  me,  sir?   for  what? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you 
gave  me  for  nothing. 

Ant.  S.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you 
nothing  for  something.  But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner- 
time ? 


156  COMEDY   OF  ERRORS.  act  il. 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir  :  I  think  the  meat  wants  that  I 
have. 

Ant.  S.     In  good  time,  sir  ;   what's  that  ? 

Dro.  S.     Basting. 

Ant.  S.     Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dro.  S.     If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  S.     Your  reason  ? 

Dro.  S.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase 
me  another  dry  basting. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time : 
there's  a  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  I  durst  have  denied  that  before  you  were 
so  choleric. 

Ant.  S.     By  what  rule,  sir  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain 
bald  pate  of  Father  Time  himself. 

Ant.  S.     Let's  hear  it. 

Dro.  S.  There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his 
hair  that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  S.     May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

Dro.  S.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  periwig,  and  re- 
cover the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  S.  Why  is  Time  such  a  niggard  of  hair, 
being,  as  it  is,   so  plentiful  an  excrement  ? 

Dro.  S.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows 
on  beasts  :  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair, 
he  hath  given  them  in  wit. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more 
hair  than  wit. 

Dro.  S.  Not  a  man  of  those  but  he  hath  the  wit 
to  lose  his  hair. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  men  plain 
dealers,  without  wit. 

Dro.  S.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost :  yet 
he  loseth   it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 


sc.   II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  157 

A7it.  S.     For  what  reason  ? 

Dro.  S.     For  two  ;    and  sound  ones  too. 

Ant.  S.     Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you. 

Dro.  S.     Sure  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.     Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falling. 

Dro.  S.     Certain  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.     Name  them. 

Dro.  S.  The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he  spends 
in  trimming ;  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they  should  not 
drop  in  his  porridge. 

Ant.  S.  You  would  all  this  time  have  prov'd  there 
is  no  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  and  did,  sir  ;  namely,  is  no  time 
to  recover  hair  lost  by  nature. 

A7it.  S.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial  why 
there  is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dro.  S.  Thus  I  mend  it :  Time  himself  is  bald, 
and  therefore,  to  the  world's  end,  will  have  bald  fol- 
lowers. 

Ant.  S.     I  knew  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion. 
But  soft !   who  wafts  us  yonder  ? 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 
Adr.     Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange,  and  frown : 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects  : 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife. 

The  time  was  once,  when  thou,  unurg'd,  would' st  vow 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear. 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye, 
That  never  touch  well  welcome  to   thy  hand, 
That  never  meat  sweet-savour' d  in  thy  taste. 
Unless  I  spake,  or    look'd,  or   touch'd,  or  carv'd    to 

thee. 
How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  O  !   how  comes  it, 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself? 


158        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     ACT  II. 

Thyself  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me, 

That,  undividable,   incorporate. 

Am  better  than  thy  dear  self's  better  part. 

Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me  : 

For  know,  my  love,   as  easy  may"st  thou  fall 

A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf. 

And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again," 

Without  addition  or  diminishing. 

As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 

How   dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 

Should'st  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious. 

And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee. 

By  ruffian  lust  should  be  contaminate  ! 

"Would'st  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me, 

And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face. 

And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  off  my  harlot-brow,  j 

And  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  wedding-ring,  I 

And  break  it  with  a   deep   divorcing  vow  ? 

I  know  thou  canst  ;    and  therefore,   see   thou    do    it.         ^ 

I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot ;  ' 

My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust  : 

For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  thou  play  false, 

I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh. 

Being  strumpcted  by  thy  contagion. 

Keep,    then,    fair    league    and    truce     with    thy    true 

bed  ; 
I  live  distain'd,  thou  one  dishonoured. 

Ant.  S.     Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame?     I  know  you 

not. 
In  Ephesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old. 
As  strange  unto  your  town  as  to  your  talk  ; 
Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd. 
Want  wit  in  all,  one  word  to  understand. 

Luc.     Fie,  brother  :   how  the  Avorld  is  chang'd  with 

you! 


sc.   II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  159 

When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Aiit.  S.     By  Dromio  ? 

Dro.  S.     By  me  ? 

Adr.     By  thee  ;    and  this    thou  didst   return  from 
him,  — 
That  he  did  buffet  thee,  and,  in  his   blows, 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for   his  wife. 

Ant.  S.     Did   you  converse,  sir,  with   this   gentle- 
woman ? 
What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact  ? 

Dro.  S.     I,  sir  ?     I  never  saw  her  till   this  time. 

Ant.  S.     Villain,    thou    liest  ;     for    even    her    very 
words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Dro.  S.     I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

Ant.  S.     How  can    she    thus    then   call  us  by  our 
names, 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration  ? 

Adr.     How  ill  agrees  it  with  your   gravity 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave, 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood  ! 
Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt. 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine  ; 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine. 
Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stronger  state. 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate  : 
If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross, 
Usurping  i^vy,  brier,  or  idle  moss  ; 
Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrusion 
Infect  thy  sap,  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Ant.  S.     To  me  she  speaks  ;   she  moves  me  for  her 
theme  ! 
What,  was  I  married  to  her  in  my  dream. 


160        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     ACT  II. 

Or  sleep  I  now,  and  think  I  hear  all  this  ?  , 
What  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss  ? 
Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
I'll  entertain  the  forced   fallacy. 

Luc.     Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for  din- 
ner. 

Dro.  S.     0,  for  my  beads  !   I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
This  is  the  fairy  land  :    O,   spite  of  spites  ! 
We  talk  with  goblins,   owles,   [elves,]  and  sprites. 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue, 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Luc.     Why  prat'st   thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st 
not? 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot ! 

Dro.  S.     I  am  transformed,  master,  am  I  not  ? 

Ant.  S.     I  think  thou  art,  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.     Nay,  master,   both   in   mind    and   in   my 
shape. 

Ant.  S.     Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Dro.  S.  No,  I  am  an  ape. 

Luc.     If  thou  art  chang'd  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass. 

Dro.  S.     'Tis  true  ;    she  rides  me,  and  I  long   for 
grass. 
'Tis  so,  I  am  an  ass  ;    else  it  could  never  be, 
But  I  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr.     Come,  come ;   no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool. 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep, 
Whilst  man  and  master  laugh  my  woes   to    scorn. 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner.  —  Dromio,  keep  the  gate. — 
Husband,  I'll  dine  above  with  you  to-day. 
And  shrive  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks.  — 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master. 
Say  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter.  — 
Come,  sister.  —  Dromio,   play  the   porter  well. 

Ant.  S.     Am    I  in  Earth,  in  Heaven,  or  in  Hell  ? 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  161 

Sleeping  or  waking  ?   mad,  or  well-advis'd  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguis"d  ? 
I'll  say  as  they  say,  and  persever  so. 
And  in  this  mist,  at  all  adventures,  go. 

Dro.  S.     Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate  ? 
Adr.     Ay  ;    and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your 

pate. 
Luc.     Come,  come,  Antipholus ;   we  dine  too  late. 

\_Exeu7it. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  the  House  of  Antipholus. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  Dromio  of  Ephesus, 
Angelo,  and  Balthazar. 


G 


Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

OOD  Signior  Angelo,  you  must  excuse  us    all ; 
My  wife   is  shrewish  when  I    keep   not  hours. 
Say  that  I  linger' d  with  you  at  your   shop. 
To  see  the  making  of  her  carcanet, 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home  ; 
But  here's  a  villain  that  would  face  me  down 
He  met  me  on  the  mart,  and  that  I  beat  him, 
And  charg'd  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold; 
And  that  ,1  did  deny  my  wife  and  house.  — 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  didst  thou  mean  by  this  ? 
Dro.  E.     Say  what  you  will,  sir,  but  I  know  what 
I  know. 
That  you  beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand  to 
show : 

VOL.   III.  K 


162  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  ACT   III. 

If  the  skin  were  parchmeiit,  and  the  blows  you  gave 

were  ink, 
Your  own  hand-writing  would  tell  you  what  I  think. 
Ant.  E.      1  think  thou  art  an  ass. 
Dro.  E.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear. 

By  the  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  the  blows  I  bear. 
I  should  kick,  being  kick'd ;   and  being  at  that  pass, 
You  would   keep  from   my  heels,  and  beware    of   an 
ass. 
Ant.  E.    Y'  are  sad,  Signior  Balthazar :    pray  God 
our  cheer 
May  answer  my  good-will,  and    your    good   welcome 
here. 
Bal.     I    hold    your    dainties    cheap,  sir,  and    your 

Avelcome  dear. 
Ant.  E.     O,   Signior  Balthazar,   either    at    flesh   or 
fish, 
A  table-full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty  dish. 
Bal.     Good  meat,  sir,  is  common ;   that  every  churl 

affords. 
Ant.  E.     And   welcome    more    common,  for    that's 

nothing  but  words. 
Bal.     Small  cheer  and  great  welcome  makes  a  mer- 
ry feast. 
A7it.  E.      Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more  sparing 
guest  : 
But    though  my  cates  be  mean,  take   them    in    good 

part ; 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better  heart. 
But  soft !   my  door  is  lock'd.      Go  bid  them  let  us  in. 
Dro.  E.     Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,    Cicely,    Gillian, 

Gin'! 
Dro.  S.     \_Witliin.^    Mome,  malt-horse,  capon,  cox- 
comb, idiot,  patch  ! 
Either    get    thee   from  the  door,  or  sit  down    at    the 
hatch. 


8C.   I.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  163 

Dost  thou  conjure  for  wenclies,  that  thou  call'st  for 

such  store, 
When  one  is  one  too  many  ?     Go,  get  thee  from  the 

door. 
Dro.  E.     What  patch  is   made   our  porter  ?  —  My 

master  stays  in  the  street. 
Dro.  S.     Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came,  lest 

he  catch  cold  on  's  feet. 
Ant.  E.     Who  talks  within  there  ?   hoa  !   open  the 

door. 
Dro.  S.     Right,  sir  :    I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll 

tell  me  wherefore. 
Ant.  E.     Wherefore  ?   for  my  dinner  :    I  have  not 

din'd  to-day. 
Dro.  S.    Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not,  come  again 

when  you  may. 
Ant.  E.     What  art  thou,  that  keep'st  me  out  from 

the  house  I  owe  ? 
Dro.  S.     The   porter   for   this    time,   sir ;    and   my 

name  is  Dromio. 
Dro.  E.     O  villain  !    thou  hast   stolen   both   mine 

oiRce  and  my  name  : 
The    one    ne'er    got    me    credit,    the    other    mickle 

blame. 
If  thou  hadst  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place. 
Thou  would' st  have  chang'd  thy  face  for  a  name,  or 

thy  name  for  a  face. 
Luce.     \_Within.^     What  a  coil  is  there,  Dromio: 

who  are  those  at  the  gate  } 
Dro.  E:     Let  my  master  in,  Luce. 
Luce.  Faith,  no  ;    he  comes  too   late  ; 

And  so  tell  your  master. 

Dro.  E.  O  Lord  !    I  must  laugh  :  — 

Have    at   you  with   a  proverb.  —  Shall   I   set  in   my 

stair? 


164  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   III. 

Luce.     Have  at  you  with  another  :    that's  —  when  ? 

can  you  tell  ? 
Dro.  S.     If  thy  name  be  called  Luce,  Luce,  thou 

hast  answer' d  him  well. 
Ant.  E.     Do  you  hear,  you  minion  ?   you'll  let  us 

in,  I  hope  ? 

[  ] 

Luce.     I  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 

Dro.  S.  And  you  said,  no. 

Dro.  E.     So ;  come,  help  !  well  struck ;   there  was 

blow  for  blow. 
Ant.  E.     Thou  baggage,  let  me  in. 
Luce.  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake  ? 

Dro.  E.     Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 
Luce.  Let  him  knock  till  it  ache. 

Ant.  E.     You'll  cry  for  this,  minion,  if  I  beat  the 

door  down. 
Luce.     What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks 

in  the   town  ? 
Adr.     [  Within.'^     Who   is   that  at   the  door,  that 

keeps  all  this  noise  ? 
Dro.  S.     By  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled  with 

unruly  boys. 
Ant.  E.  ■   Are    you    there,    wife  ?    you    might   have 

come  before. 
Adr.     Your  wife,  sir  knave  ?  go,  get  you  from  the 

door. 
Dro.  E.     If  you  went  in  pain,  master,  this  knave 

would  go  sore. 
Ang.     Here    is    neither    cheer,   sir,    nor   welcome : 

we  would  fain  have   either. 
Bal.     In    debating  which  was  best,  we   shall  part 

with  neither. 
Dro.  E.     They  stand  at  the  door,  master  :  bid  them 

welcome  hither. 


SC.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  165 

A7it.  E.     There  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we 

cannot  get  in. 
Bro.  E.     You  would   say  so,  master,  if  your  gar- 
ments were  thin. 
Your  cake  here  is  warm  within  ;    you  stand  here  in 

the  cold  : 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck  to  be  so  bought 
and  sold. 
Ant.  E.     Go,  fetch  me   something  :   I'll  break  ope 

the  gate. 
.  Dro.  S.     Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break 
your  knave's  pate. 
Dro.  E.    A  man  may  break  a  word  with  you,  sir, 
and  words  are  but  wind ; 
Ay,  and  break  it  in  your   face,  so  he  break   it   not 
behind. 
Dro.  S.     It    seems,    thou    want'st    breaking.      Out 

upon  thee,  hind  ! 
Dro.  E.     Here's  too  much  out  upon  thee  !     I  pray 

thee,  let  me  in. 
Dro.  S.     Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers,  and  fish 

have  no  fin. 
Ant.  E.    Well,  I'll  break  in.    Go,  borrow  me  a  crow. 
Dro.  E.     A   crow   without   feather  ?    master,   mean 
you  so  ? 
For   a  fish   without   a  fin,    there's   a  fowl   without   a 

feather. 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  pluck  a  crow  to- 
gether. 
Ant.  E.  *  Go,  get  thee  gone  :  fetch  me  an  iron  crow. 
Bah     Have  patience,  sir  ;    O  !  let  it  not  be  so  : 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation. 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
Th'  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife. 
Once  this,  —  Your  long  experience  of  her  wisdom. 


166  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   III. 

Her  sober  virtue,   years,  and  modesty. 

Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown  ; 

And  doubt  not,   sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 

Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against  you. 

Be  rul'd  by  me  :    depart  in  patience. 

And  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  to  dinner  ; 

And,  about  evening,  come  yourself  alone 

To  know  the  reason  of  this  strange  restraint. 

If  by  strong  hand  you  offer  to  break  in. 

Now,  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 

A  vulgar  comment  will  be  made  of  it ; 

And  that  supposed  by  the  common  rout. 

Against  your  yet  ungalled  estimation. 

That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in, 

And  dwell  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead  : 

For  slander  lives  upon  succession. 

For  ever  housed,  where  it  gets  possession. 

Ant.  E.    You  have  prevail' d :   I  will  depart  in  quiet. 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse. 
Pretty  and  witty,  wild  and  yet,  too,  gentle  : 
There  wdll  w'e  dine.     This  woman  that  I  mean. 
My  wife  (but,  I  protest,  without  desert,) 
Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal  : 
To  her  will  we  to  dinner.  —  Get  you  home. 
And  fetch  the  chain  ;    by  this,  I  know,   'tis  made : 
Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to  the  Porpentine  ; 
For  there's  the  house.     That  chain  will  I  bestow 
(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife) 
Upon  mine  hostess  there.     Good  sir,  make  haste. 
Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 
I'll  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 

Ang.     I'll  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  hour  hence. 

Ant.  E.     Do  so.     This  jest  shall  cost  me  some  ex- 
pense. [_Exeunt. 


sc,   II.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  167 

Scene  II. 
Court  in  the  House  of  Axtipholus. 

y   Enter  Luciana  and  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Luc.     And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quite  forgot 

A  husband's  office  ?     Shall,  Antipholus, 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-springs  rot? 

Shall  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinous  ? 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  wealth, 

Then,  for  her  wealth's  sake,  use  her  with  more  kind- 
ness ; 
Or  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth  : 

Muffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of  blindness  ; 
Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye  : 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  shame's  orator  ; 
Look  sweet,  speak  fair,  become  disloyalty ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger  : 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted  ; 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint : 
Be  secret-false  ;    what  need  she  be  acquainted  ? 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  his  own  attaint  ? 
'Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed. 

And  let  her  read  it  in  thy  looks  at  board. 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  managed  ; 

111  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 
Alas,  poor  women  !    make  us  but  believe. 

Being  compact  of  credit,  that  you  love  us  ; 
Though  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve. 

We  in  your  motion  turn,  and  you  may  move  us. 
Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  again  : 

Comfort  my  sister,  cheer  her.  call  her  wife. 
'Tis  holy  sport  to  be  a  little  vain. 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers  strife. 


168  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  ACT  m. 

Ant.  S.     Sweet  mistress,  (what  your  name  is  else, 
I  know  not, 

Nor  by  what  wonder  you  do  hit  of  mine,) 
Less  in  your  knowledge,  and  your  grace  you  shew  not, 

Than  our  Earth's  wonder  ;   more  than  Earth  divine. 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  think  and  speak  : 

Lay  open  to  my  earthy  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words'   deceit. 
Against  my  soul's  pure  truth,  Avhy  labour  you 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  field  ? 
Are  you  a  god  ?  would  you  create  me  new  ? 

Transform  me  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll  yield. 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  know. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine. 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  do  I  owe  : 

Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  I  decline. 
O,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note, 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears. 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself,  and  I  will  dote  : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  hairs. 
And  as  a  bride  I'll  take  thee,  and  there  lie  ; 

And,  in  that  glorious  supposition,  think 
He  gains  by  death,  that  hath  such  means  to  die  : 

Let  Love,  being  light,  be  drowned  if  she  sink  ! 

Luc.     What  !  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so  ? 

Ant.  S.    Not  mad,  but  mated ;  how,  I  do  not  know. 

Luc.     It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 

Ant.  S.     For  gazing  on  your  beams,  fair  sun,  be- 
ing by. 

Luc.     Gaze  where  you  should,  and  that  will  clear 
your  sight. 

Ant.  S.     As  good  to  wink,  sweet  love,  as  look  on 
night. 

Luc.     Why  call  you  me  love  ?    call  my  sister  so. 


sc.   ir.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  169 

Ant.  S.     Thy  sister's  sister. 

Luc.  That's  my  sister. 

Ant.  S.  No ; 

It  is  thyself,  mine  own  self's  better  part ; 
Mine  eye's  clear  eye,  my  dear  heart's  dearer  heart ; 
My  food,  my  fortune,  and  my  sweet  hope's  aim, 
My  sole  Earth's-heaven,  and  my  Heaven's  claim. 

Luc.     All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  be. 

Ant.  S.     Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  I  aim  thee. 
Thee  will  I  love,  and  Avith  thee  lead  my  life  : 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  I  no  wife. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

Luc.  O,  soft,  sir  !    hold  you  still  : 

I'll  fetch  my  sister,  to   get  her  good-will.  \_Exit. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  hastily. 

/  Ant.  S.  Why,  how  now,  Dromio  !  where  run'st 
thou  so  fast  ? 

Dro.  S.  Do  you  know  me,  sir  ?  am  I  Dromio  ? 
am  I  your  man  ?    am  I  myself  ? 

Ant.  S.  Thou  art  Dromio,  thou  art  my  man,  thou 
art  thyself. 

Dro.  S.  I  am  an  ass  ;  I  am  a  woman's  man,  and 
besides  myself. 

A7it.  S.  What  woman's  man?  and  how  besides 
thyself? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to 
a  woman  ;  one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  me, 
one  that  will  have  me. 

Ant.  S.  •  What  claim  lays  she  to  thee  ? 

Dro.  S.     Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  you  would  lay 

to  your  horse ;    and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast : 

not  that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  would  have .  me ;    but 

that    she,   being   a  very   beastly   creature,   lays    claim 

to  me. 

k2 


170  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  hi. 

Ant.  S.     What  is  she? 

Dro.  S.  A  very  reverend  body  ;  ay,  such  a  one 
as  a  man  may  not  speak  of,  without  he  say,  sir-rev- 
erence. I  have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and  yet 
she  is  a  wondrous  fat  marriage. 

Ant.  S.     How  dost  thou  mean,  a  fat  marriage  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  she's  the  kitchen-wench,  and 
all  grease ;  and  I  know  not  what  use  to  put  her  to, 
but  to  make  a  lamp  of  her  and  run  from  her  by  her 
own  light.  I  warrant,  her  rags  and  the  tallow  in 
them,  will  burn  a  Poland  winter  :  if  she  lives  till 
doomsday,  she'll  burn  a  week  longer  than  the  whole 
world. 

Ant.  S.     What  complexion  is  she  of? 

Dro.  S.  Swart,  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  nothing 
like  so  clean  kept :  for  why  ?  she  sweats,  a  man  may 
go  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

Ant.  S.     That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir  ;  'tis  in  grain  :  Noah's  flood  could 
not  do  it. 

Ant.  S.     What's  her  name  ? 

Dro.  S.  Nell,  sir  ;  but  her  name  and  three  quar- 
ters, that  is,  an  ell  and  three  quarters,  will  not  meas- 
ure her  from  hip  to  hip. 

Ajit.  S.     Then  she  bears  some  breadth  ? 

Dro.  S.  No  longer  from  head  to  foot,  than  from 
hip  to  hip  :  she  is  spherical,  like  a  globe  ;  I  could 
find  out  countries  in  her. 

Ant.  S.     In  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks  :  I  found  it 
out  by  the  bogs. 

Ant.  S.     Where  Scotland  ? 

Dro.  S.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenness,  hard,  in  the 
palm  of  the  hand. 

Ant.  S.     Where  France  ? 


sc.    II.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  171 

Dro.  S.  In  her  forehead  ;  arm'd  and  revolted,  mak- 
ing war  against  her  heir. 

Ant.  S.     Where  England? 

Dro.  S.  I  look'd  for  the  chalky  cliffs,  but  I  could 
find  no  whiteness  in  them  :  but  I  guess,  it  stood  in 
her  chin,  by  the  salt  rheum  that  ran  between  France 
and  it. 

Ant.  S.     Where  Spain? 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  I  saw  it  not ;  but  I  felt  it  hot  in 
her  breath. 

Ant.  S.     Where  America,  the  Indies  ? 

Dro.  S.  O  !  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embel- 
lished with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining 
their  rich  aspect  to  the  hot  breath  of  Spain,  who  sent 
whole  armadoes  of  carracks  to  be  ballast  at  her  nose. 

A7it.  S.     Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netherlands? 

Dro.  S.  O  !  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  con- 
clude, this  drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me ;  call'd 
me  Dromio ;  swore  I  was  assured  to  her  :  told  me 
what  privy  marks  I  had  about  me,  as  the  mark  of 
my  shoulder,  the  mole  in  my  neck,  the  great  wart 
on  my  left  arm,  that  I,  amaz'd,  ran  from  her  as  a 
witch  :  and,  I  think,  if  my  breast  had  not  been  made 
of  faith,  and  my  heart  of  steel,  she  had  transform' d 
me  to  a  curtall-dog,  and  made  me  turn  i'  th'  wheel. 

Ant.  S.     Go,  hie  thee   presently  post  to  the  road. 
And  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  shore, 
I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  put  forth,  come  to  the  mart. 
Where  I  -ftfill  walk  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  knows  us,  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack,  and  begone. 

Dro.  S.  As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life, 
So  fly  I  from  her  that  would  be  my  wife.         \^Exit. 

Ant.  S.     There" s  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here. 


172  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   III. 

And  therefore  'tis  high  time  that  I  were  hence. 
She  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
Doth  for  a  wife  abhor ;    but  her  fair  sister, 
Possess'd  with  such  a  gentle  sovereign  grace, 
Of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse, 
Hath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself: 
But,  lest  myself  be  guilty  to  self-wrong, 
I'll  stop  mine  ears  against  the  mermaid's  song. 

Enter  Angexo. 

Ang.     Master  Antipholus  ? 

Ant.  S.     Ay,  that's  my  name. 

Ang.     I  know  it  well,  sir.     Lo,  here  is  the  chain. 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porpentine ; 
The  chain  unfinish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 

Ant.  S.    What  is  your  will  that  I  shall  do  with  this  r 

Ang.     What  please  yourself,  sir  :    I  have  made  it 
for  you. 

Ant.  S.     Made  it  for  me,  sir  ?     I  bespoke  it  not. 

Ang.     Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  twenty  times  you 
have. 
Go  home  with  it,  and  please  your  wife  withal  ; 
And  soon  at  supper-time  I'll  visit  you. 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain. 

Ant.  S.     I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now, 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain,  nor  money,  more. 

Ang.     You  are  a  merry  man,  sir.     Fare  you  well. 

l^Exit. 

Ant.  S.     What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot  tell ; 
Rut  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain. 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  ofFer'd  chain. 
I  see,  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts. 
When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  tjolden  gifts. 
I'll  to  the  mart,  and  there  for  Dromio  stay  : 
If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.  [_Exit. 


sc.   I.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  173 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.  —  A  public   Place. 
Enter  a  Merchant,  Angelo,  and  an  Officer. 

Merchant. 

YOU  know,  since  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due. 
And,  since,  I  have  not  much  importun'd  you  ; 
Nor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  am  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  guilders  for  my  voyage  : 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction. 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ang.     Even    just    the     sum,    that    I    do    owe    to 
you. 
Is  growing  to  me  by  Antipholus  ; 
And,  in  the  instant  that  I  met  with  you. 
He  had  of  me  a  chain  :  at  five  o'clock, 
I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same. 
Pleaseth  you  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
I  will  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  and   Dromio  of 
Ephesus,  from  the  Courtezan's. 

Officer.     That  labour  may  you  save  :   see  where  he 
comes. 

Ant.  E.    While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go 

thou 
And  buy  a  rope's-end;   that  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates. 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day.  — 
But  soft,  I  see  the  goldsmith.  —  Get  thee  gone  ; 
Buy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 


174  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  iv. 

Dro.  E.     I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a-year  ?     I  buy 
a  rope  ?  \_Exit. 

Ant.  E.     A  man  is  well  bolp  up  that  trusts  to  you : 
I  promised  your  presence,  and  the  chain  ; 
But  neither  chain  nor  goldsmith  came  to  me. 
Belike,  you  thought  our  love  would  last  too  long. 
If  it  were  chain" d  together,  and  therefore  came   not. 

Ang.     Saving  your  merry  humour,  here's  the  note 
How  much   your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost  caract, 
The  fineness  of  the  gold,  and  chargeful  fashion, 
Which  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman  : 
I  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharg'd, 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 

Aid.  E.    I  am  not  furnish'd  with  the  present  money  ; 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town. 
Good  signior,  take  the  stranger  to  my  house. 
And  with  you  take  the  chain,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof : 
Perchance,  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  you. 

Ang.     Then  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  your- 
self? 

Aiit.  E.     No  ;    bear   it  with   you,  lest  I  come  not 
time  enough. 

Ang.     Well,  sir,  I  will.     Have  you  the  chain  about 
you? 

Ant.  E.     An  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  hope  you  have. 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 

Ang.     Nay,  come,   I    pray   you,   sir,   give    me    the 
chain  : 
Both  wind  and  tide  stays   for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 

Ant.  E.     Good  lord  !  you  use  this  dalliance,  to  ex- 
cuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porpcntine. 


8C.   I.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  175 

I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it, 
But,  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 

Mer.     The  hour  steals  on :    I   pray  you,  sir,  dis- 
patch. 
Ang.     You    hear    how    he    importunes    me  :  —  the 

chain. 
Ant.  E.     Why,  give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch  your 

money. 
Ang.     Come,  come  ;  you  know,  I  gave  it  you  even 
now. 
Either  send  the  chain,  or  send  me  by  some  token. 
Ant.  E.     Fie  !    noAV  you   run   this   humour   out  of 
breath. 
Come,  where's  the  chain  ?    I  pray  you,  let  me  see  it. 

Mer.     My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance. 
Good  sir,  say  whe'r  you'll  answer  me,  or  no  ? 
If  not,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  officer. 

Ant.  E.     I   answer   you !    what    should    I    answer 

you? 

Ang.     The  money  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 

.    Ant.  E.     I  owe  you  none,  till  I  receive  the  chain. 

Ang.      You  know,  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour  since. 

Ant.  E.     You  gave  me  none  :   you  wrong  me  much 

to  say  so. 
Ang.     You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it : 
Consider  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 
Mer.     Well,  officer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit. 
Off.     I  do,  and  charge  you  in  the  Duke's  name  to 

obey  me. 
Ang.     This  touches  me  in  reputation.  — 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me, 
Or  I  attach  you   by  this  officer. 

Ant.  E.      Consent  to  pay  thee  that  I  never  had  ? 
Arrest  me,   foolish  fellow,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Ang.     Here  is  thy  fee  :    arrest  him,  officer.  — 


/ 


176  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  ACT   IV. 

I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case, 
If  he  should  scorn  me  so  apparently. 

Off.     I  do  arrest  you,  sir  :    you  hear  the  suit. 

Ant.  E.     I  do   obey  thee,  till  I  give  thee  bail.  — 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear. 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Ang.     Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  your  notorious  shame,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.     Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard. 
And  then,  sir,  she  bears  away.      Our  fraughtage,  sir, 
I  have  convey' d  aboard,  and  I  have  bought 
The  oil,  the  balsamum,  and  aqua-vitae. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim  :    the  merry  Avind 
Blojvs  fair  from  land  ;    they  stay  for  nought  at  all, 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

Ant.  E.     How  now  ?  a  madman  ?    Why,  thou  peev- 
ish sheep, 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 

Dro.  S.     A  ship  you  sent  me  to,  to  hire  waftage. 

Ant.  E.    Thou    drunken    slave,   I   sent   thee    for  a 
rope  ; 
And  told  thee  to  what  purpose,  and  Avhat  end. 

Dro.  S.     You  sent  me  for  a  rope's-end  as  soon. 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

Ant.  E.     I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure, 
And  teach  your  ears  to  list  me  with  more  heed. 
To  Adriana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight ; 
Give  her  this  key,  and  tell  her,  in  the  desk 
That's  cover'd  o'er  with  Turkish  tapestry. 
There  is  a  purse  of  ducats  :    let  her  send  it. 
Tell  her,  I  am  arrested  in  the  street, 
And  that  shall  bail  me.     Hie  thee,  slave,  be  gone. 


sc.   II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  177 

On,  officer,  to  prison  till  it  come. 

\_Exeunt  Merchant,  Angelo,  Officer, 
and  Ant.  E. 
Dro.  S.     To  Adriana  ?   ttat  is  where  we  din'd, 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband : 
She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will. 
For  servants  must  their  masters'  minds  fulfil.       \_Exit. 


Scene  II. 
Court  in  the  House  of  Antiphoxxjs. 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr.     Ah  !    Luciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so  r 

Might' st  thou  perceive  austerely  in  his  eye 
That  he  did  plead  in  earnest  ?   yea  or  no  ? 

Look'd  he  or  red,  or  pale  ?    or  sad,  or  merrily  ? 
What  observation  mad'st  thou  in  this  case. 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  ? 

Luc.     First  he  deni'd  you  had  in  him  no  right. 

Adr.    He  meant,  he  did  me  none  :  the  more  my  spite. 

Luc.     Then  swore  he  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 

Adr.     And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he 
were. 

Luc.     Then  pleaded  I  for  you. 

Adr.  And  what  said  he  r 

Luc.     That  love  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  of  me. 

Adr.     With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy  love  ? 

Luc.     With  words    that    in  an  honest    suit    might 
move. 
First,  he  did  praise  my  beauty  ;    then,  my  speech. 

Adr.     Didst  speak  him  fair  ? 

Luc.  Have  patience,  I  beseech. 

VOL.  in.  L 


178  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   IV. 

Adr.     I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  hold  me  still  : 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his  will. 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old,  and  sere, 
Ill-fac'd,  worse  bodied,  shapeless  every  where  ; 
Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unkind, 
Stigmatical  in  making,   worse  in  mind. 

Luc.     Who  would  be  jealous,  then,  of  such  a  one? 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  gone. 

Adr.     Ah  !   but  I  think  him  better  than  I   say. 

And  yet  would  herein  others'  eyes  were  worse. 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away  : 

My   heart    prays    for    him,    though    my    tongue    do 
curse. 

Enter  Dkomio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.     Here,  go  :    the  desk  !    the  purse  !   sweet, 

now  make  haste. 
Luc.     How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 
Dro.  S.  By  running  fast. 

Adr.     Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio  ?   is  he  well  ? 
Dro.  S.    No,  he's  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  Hell : 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him. 
One  whose  hard  heart  is  button' d  up  with  steel ; 
A  fiend,  a  fairy  pitiless  and  rough  ; 
A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff"; 
A  back-friend,   a  shoulder-clapper,  one  that  counter- 
mands 
The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands  : 
A  hound  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws    dry-foot 

well ; 
One  that,  before  the  judgment,   carries  poor  souls  to 
Hell. 
Adr.     Why,   man,  what  is  the  matter? 
Dro.  S.      I  do  not  know  the  matter:   he  is  'rested 
on  the  case. 


sc.  II.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  179 

Adr.     What,  is  lie  arrested  ?   tell  me,  at  whose  suit. 
Dro.  S.     I  know  not  at  whose  suit  he  is  arrested, 
well ; 
But  is  in  a  suit  of  buff  which  'rested  him,  that  can 

I  tell. 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption?   the  money 
in  his  desk  ? 
Adr.     Go  fetch  it,  sister.  —  This  I  wonder  at; 

\_Exit    LUCIANA. 

That  he,  unknown  to  me,   should  be  in  debt :  — 
Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band  ? 

Dro.  S.     Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing ; 
A  chain,  a  chain :    do  you  not  hear  it  ring  ? 
Adr.     What,  the  chain  ? 

Dro.  S.     No,  no,  the  bell.     'Tis  time  that  I  were 

gone  : 

It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock  strikes  one. 

Adr.     The  hours  come  back  !  that  did  I  never  hear. 

Dro.  S.     O,  yes;    if  any  hour  meet  a   serjeant,  a' 

turns  back  for  very  fear. 
Adr.     As  if  Time  were  in  debt !   how  fondly  dost 

thou  reason  ! 
Dro.  S.     Time  is  a  very  bankrupt,  and  owes  more 
than  he's  worth  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  thief  too  :    have  you  not  heard  men   say 
That  Time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day? 
If  he  be  in  debt  and  theft,  and  a  serjeant  in  the  way, 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a  day  ? 

Enter  Luciana. 
Adr.     Go,    Dromio  :    there's    the    money,    bear    it 

straight. 
And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately.  — 
Come,  sister ;    I  am  press' d  down  with  conceit. 
Conceit,  my  comfort,  and  my  injury.  \_Exeunt. 


'# 


180  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act   it. 

Scene  III. 
A  public  Place. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  S.     There's    not  a  man  I  meet  but   doth    sa- 
lute me, 
As  if  I  were  their  well  acquainted  friend ; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Some  tender  money  to  me,  some  invite  me  ; 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses  ; 
Some  offer  me  commodities  to  buy  : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop. 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me, 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  Aviles, 
And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for. 
What  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd  ? 

Ant.  S.  What  gold  is  this?  What  Adam  dost 
thou  mean  ? 

Dro.  S.  Not  that  Adam  that  kept  the  Paradise, 
but  that  Adam  that  keeps  the  prison  :  he  that  goes 
in  the  calf's-skin  that  was  kill'd  for  the  prodigal :  he 
that  came  behind  you,  sir,  like  an  evil  angel,  and 
bid  you  forsake  your  liberty. 

Ant.  S.     I  understand  thee  not. 

Dro.  S.  No  ?  why,  'tis  a  plain  case  :  he  that  went, 
like  a  base-viol,  in  a  case  of  leather :  the  man,  sir, 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  them  a  stop, 
and  'rests  them :    he,  sir,  that  takes  pity  on  decayed 


sc.   III.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  181 

men,  and  gives  them  suits  of  durance ;  he  that  sets 
up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with  his  mace  than 
a  morris-pike. 

Ant.  S.     What,  thou  mean'st  an  officer  ? 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  the  Serjeant  of  the  Band  ;  he 
that  brings  any  man  to  answer  it  that  breaks  his 
band  :  one  that  thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed, 
and  says,  '  God  give  you  good  rest !  ' 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery.  Is 
there  any  ship  puts  forth  to-night  ?   may  we  be  gone  ? 

Dro.  S.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour 
since  that  the  bark  Expedition  put  forth  to-night ; 
and  then  were  you  hindered  by  the  Serjeant  to  tarry 
for  the  hoy  Delay.  Here  are  the  angels  that  you 
sent  for  to  deliver  you. 

Ant.  S.     The  fellow  is  distract,  and  so  am  I ; 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions. 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence ! 


/ 


Enter  Courtezan. 

Courtezan.    Well  met,  well  met,  Master  Antipholus. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now : 
Is  that  the  chain  you  promis'd  me  to-day  ? 

Ant.  S.     Satan,  avoid  !     I  charge  Thee,  tempt  me 
not! 

Dro.  S.     Master,  is  this  Mistress   Satan? 

Ant.  S.     It  is  the  Devil. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  she  is  worse ;  she  is  the  Devil's 
dam ;  and  here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light 
wench  :  -and  thereof  comes  that  the  wenches  say, 
"  God  damn  me,"  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  '  God 
make  me  a  light  wench.'  It  is  written,  they  appear 
to  men  like  angels  of  light  :  light  is  an  effect  of 
fire,  and  fire  will  burn ;  ergo,  light  wenches  will 
burn.     Come  not  near  her. 


182  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT  iv. 

Cour.     Your   man  and   you  are  marvellous  merry, 
sir. 
Will  you  go  with  me  ?  we'll  mend  our  dinner  here. 

Dro.  S.     Master,  if  you  do,  expect  spoon-meat,  and 
bespeak  a  long  spoon. 

Ant.  S.     Why,  Dromio  ? 

Dro.  S.     Marry,  he  must  have  a  long   spoon    that 
must  eat  with  the  Devil. 

Ant.  S.     Avoid,  thou  fiend !    what  tell'st  thou  me 
of  supping  ? 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress  : 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me,  and  be  gone. 

Cour.     Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  din- 
ner. 
Or  for  my  diamond  the  chain  you  promis'd. 
And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dro.  S.     Some  devils  ask  but  the  parings  of  one's 
nail, 
A  rush,  a  hair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin, 
A  nut,  a  cherry-stone  ; 

But  she,  more  covetous,  would  have  a  chain. 
Master,  be  wise  :    an  if  you  give  it  her, 
The  Devil  will  shake  her  chain,  and  fright  us  with  it. 

Cour.     I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain. 
I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Ant.  S.     Avaunt,  thou  witch  !     Come,  Dromio,  let 
us  go. 

Dro.  S.     '  Fly  pride,'  says  the  peacock  :   Mistress, 
that  you  know.  \_Exeunt  Anx.   and  Dro. 

Cour.     Now,  out  of  doubt,  Antipholus  is  mad. 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself. 
A  ring  he  hath  of  mine  worth  forty  ducats  ; 
And  for  the  same  he  promis'd  me  a  chain : 
Both  one  and  other  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad. 


sc.   IV.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  183 

Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage, 

Is  a  mad  tale  he  told  to-day  at  dinner 

Of  his  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  entrance. 

Belike,  his  wife,  acquainted  with  his  fits, 

On  purpose  shut  the  doors  against  his  way. 

My  way  is  now,  to  hie  home  to  his  house. 

And  tell  his  wife,  that,  being  lunatic. 

He  rush'd  into  my  house,  and  took  perforce 

My  ring  away.     This  course  I  fittest  choose. 

For  forty  ducats  is  too  much  to  lose.  [^Exit. 


Scene  IV. 
The  Same. 

Enter  Antipholus   of  Ephesus,  a7id  an  Officer. 

Ant.  E.    Fear  me  not,  man  ;   I  will  not  break  away  : 
I'll  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,   so  much  money, 
To  warrant  thee,  as  I  am  'rested  for. 
My  wife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to-day. 
And  will  not  lightly  trust  the  messenger  : 
That  I  should  be  attach' d  in  Ephesus, 
I  tell  you,   'twill  sound  harshly  in  her  ears. 

Enter  Deojiio  of  Ephesus  with  a  rope's-end. 

Here  comes  my  man  :   I  think  he  brings  the  money.  — 

How  now,  sir  ?    have  you  that  I  sent  you  for  r 

Dro.  E.  Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay  them 
all: 

Ant.  E.  But  where's  the  money  ? 

Dro.  E.  Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 

Ant.  E.  Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope  ? 

Dro.  E.  I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 

Ant.  E.  To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home  ? 


184  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  iv. 

Dro.  E.  To  a  rope's-end,  sir  ;  and  to  that  end  am 
I  return' d. 

Ant.  E.     And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome  you. 

\_Beats  him. 

Off.     Good  sir,  be  patient. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  'tis  for  me  to  he  patient ;  I  am  in 
adversity. 

Off.     Good  now,  hold  thy  tongue. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his 
hands. 

Ant.  E.     Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain  ! 

Dro.  E.  I  would  1  were  senseless,  sir ;  that  I 
might  not  feel  your  blows. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows, 
and  so  is  an  ass. 

Dro.  E.  I  am  an  ass,  indeed  :  you  may  prove  it 
by  my  long  ears.  I  have  serv'd  him  from  the  hour 
of  my  nativity  to  this  instant,  and  have  nothing  at 
his  hands  for  my  service,  but  blows.  When  I  am 
cold,  he  heats  me  with  beating  ;  when  I  am  warm, 
he  cools  me  with  beating  :  I  am  wak'd  with  it  when 
I  sleep,  rais'd  with  it  when  I  sit,  driven  ovit  of 
doors  with  it  when  I  go  from  home,  welcom'd  home 
with  it  when  I  return  :  nay,  I  bear  it  on  my  shoul- 
ders, as  a  beggar  wont  her  brat ;  and,  I  think,  when 
he  hath  lam'd  me,  I  shall  beg  with  it  from  door  to 
door. 

Ant.  E.    Come,  go  along  :  my  wife  is  coming  yonder. 

Enter  Adriana,    Luciana,    the   Courtezan,    Pinch, 

and  others. 

Dro.  E.  Mistress,  respice  finem,  respect  your  end ; 
or  rather  the  prophecy,  like  the  parrot,  '  Beware  the 
rope's-end.' 

Ant.  E.     Wilt  thou  still  talk  ?  \_Beats  him. 


sc.   IV.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  185 

Cour.    How  say  you  now  ?  is  not  your  husband  mad  ? 

Adr.     His  incivility  confirms  no  less.  — 
Good  Doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  again, 
And  I  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 

Luc.     Alas,  how  fiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks  ! 

Cour.     Mark,  how  he  trembles  in  his  ecstasy  ! 

Pinch.     Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  feel  your 
pulse. 

Ant.  E.     There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your  ear. 

Pinch.    I  charge  thee,  Satan,  hous'd  within  this  man. 
To  yield  possession  to  my  holy  prayers. 
And  to  thy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight : 
I  conjure  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  Heaven. 

A7it.  E.    Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace  !  I  am  not  mad. 

Adr.     O,  that  thou  wert  not,  poor  distressed  soul ! 

Ant.  E.     You    minion,    you  ;    are   these   your   cus- 
tomers ? 
Did  this  companion  with  the  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to-day. 
Whilst  vipon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut, 
And  I  denied  to  enter  in  my  house  ? 

Adr.     O,  husband,  God  doth  know,  you  din'd  at 
home  ; 
Where  'would  you  had  remain'd  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders  and  this  open  shame  ! 

A7it.  E.     Din'd  at  home  !    Thou,  villain,  what  say'st 
thou? 

Dro.  E.     Sir,   sooth   to   say,   you   did  not   dine  at 
home. 

Ant.  E.     Were    not    my   doors    lock'd    up,   and    I 
shut  out  ? 

Dro.  E.     Perdy,  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and  you 

shut  out. 

Ant.  E.     And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there  ? 
l2 


186        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     ACT  IV. 

Dro.  E.     Sans  fable,  she  herself  revil'd  you  there. 
Ant.  E.     Did  not  her  kitchen-maid  rail,  taunt,  and 

scorn  me  ? 
Dro.  E.    Certes,  she  did  ;  the  kitchen-vestal  scorn'd 

you. 
Ant.  E.     And  did  not  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence? 
Dro.  E.    In  verity,  you  did  :  —  my  bones  bear  wit- 
ness. 
That  since  have  felt  the  vigour  of  his  rage. 

Adr.     Is't  good  to  soothe  him  in  these  contraries? 
Pinch.      It  is  no  shame  :   the  fellow  finds  his  vein, 
And,  yielding  to  him,  humours  well  his  frenzy. 
Ant.  E.     Thou  hast  suborn' d  the  goldsmith  to  ar- 
rest me. 
Adr.     Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you, 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it. 

Dro.  E.     Money  by  me  !  heart  and  good-will  you 
might ; 
But,  surely,  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 

Ant.  E.     Went'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of 

ducats  ? 
Adr.     He  came  to  me,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 
Luc.     And  I  am  witness  with  her  that  she  did. 
Dro.  E.     God  and  the  rope-maker  bear  me  witness, 
That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope  ! 

Pinch.     Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  possess'd  : 
I  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadly  looks. 
They  must  be  bound,  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 
Ant.  E.     Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth 
to-day, 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 

Adr.     I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth. 
Dro.  E.     And,  gentle  master,  I  receiv'd  no  gold ; 
But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adr.     Dissembling  villain  !   thou   speak'st   false  in 
both. 


sc.   IV.  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  187 

Ant.  E.     Dissembling  harlot  !   thou  art  false  in  all, 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack 
To  make  a  loathsome,  abject  scorn  of  me  ; 
But  with  these  nails  I'll  pluck  out  these  false  eyes. 
That  would  behold  in  me  this  shameful  sport. 

Enter  three  or  four,  and  offer  to  hind  Antipholus 
and  Dromio. 

Adr.     O  bind  him,  bind  him  !    let  him  not  come 
near  me. 

Pinch.     More  company  !  —  the  fiend  is  strong  with- 
in him. 

Luc.     Ah   me !    poor  man,  how   pale   and   wan  he 
looks  ! 

Ant.  E.     What,  will  you  murther  me  ?     Thou  gaol- 
er, thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner :    wilt  thou  suffer  them 
To  make  a  rescue  ? 

Off.  Masters,  let  him  go  : 

He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch.     Go,  bind  this  man,  for  he  is  frantic  too. 

Adr.     What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  peevish  officer  ? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself? 

Off.     He  is  my  prisoner  :    if  I  let  him  go, 
The  debt  he  owes  will  be  requir'd  of  me. 

Adr.     I  will  discharge  thee,  ere  I  go  from  thee. 
Bear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor, 
And,  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay  it. 
Good  Master  Doctor,  see  him  safe  convey' d 
Home  to  my  house.  —  O,  most  unhappy  day  ! 

Ant.  E.      O,  most  unhappy  strumpet ! 

Dro.  E.    Master,  I  am  here  enter'd  in  bond  for  you. 

Ant.  E.     Out  on  thee,  villain  !  wherefore  dost  thou 
mad  me  ? 


188        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     ACT  IV. 

Dro.  E.     Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing  ?  be  mad, 
good  master  ; 
Cry,  The  Devil  !  — 

Luc.     God  help,  poor  souls  !  howidlely  do  they  talk. 
Adr.     Go  bear  him  hence.  —  Sister,  go  you  with 
me.  — 

\_Exeunt  Pinch  and  assistants  with  Antiph- 
OLUS  and  Dromio. 
Say  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at  ? 

Of.  One  Angelo,  a  goldsmith  ;  do  you  know  him  ? 
Adr.  I  know  the  man.  What  is  the  sum  he  owes? 
Off.     Two  hundred  ducats. 

Adr.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 

Off.     Due  for  a  chain  your  husband  had  of  him. 
Adr.     He    did   bespeak   a  chain    for   me,  but  had 

it  not. 
Cour.     When  as  your  husband,  all  in  rage,  to-day 
Came  to  my  house  and  took  away  my  ring, 
(The  ring  I  saw  upon  his  finger  now) 
Straight  after  did  I  meet  him  with  a  chain. 

Adr.     It  may  be  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it.  — 
Come,   gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is  : 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 

Enter  Antipholxjs  of  Syracuse,  with  his  rapier 
drawn,  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Luc.     God,  for  thy  mercy  !    they  are  loose  again. 
Adr.    And   come   with   naked   swords.      Let's   call 
more  help, 
To  have  them  bound  again. 

Off.  Away  !    they'll  kill  us. 

\_Exeunt  Adriana,  Luciana,  and  Officer. 

Ant.  S.     I  see,  these  witches  are  afraid  of  swords. 

Dro.  S.     She    that    Avould    be    your   wife    now   ran 

from  you. 


sc. 


COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  189 


Ant.  S.     Come  to  the  Centaur ;  fetch  our  stuff  from 
thence  : 
I  long  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night ;  they  will  sure- 
ly do  us  no  harm  :  you  saw  they  speak  us  fair,  give 
us  gold.  Methinks  they  are  such  a  gentle  nation, 
that,  but  for  the  mountain  of  mad  flesh  that  claims 
marriage  of  me,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  stay  here 
Btill,  and  turn  witch. 

Ant.  S.  I  will  not  stay  to-night  for  all  the  town ; 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuff  aboard.        \_Exeunt. 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Same.     Before  an  Abbey. 
Enter  Merchant  and  Angelo. 

AjVOELO. 

I  AM  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hinder'd  you  ; 
But,  I  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me, 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

Mer,     How  is  the  man  esteem'd  here  in  the  city  ? 
Ang.     Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir, 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  belov'd. 
Second  to' none  that  lives  here  in  the  city: 
His  word  might  bear  my  wealth  at  any  time. 

Mer.     Speak  softly  :   yonder,  as  I  think,  he  walks. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Ang.     'Tis  so  ;  and  that  self  chain  about  his  neck, 


190  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  ACT  T. 

Which  he  forswore,  most  monstrously,  to  have. 
Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me ;   I'll  speak  to  him.  — 
Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much 
That  you  would  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself, 
With  circumstance  and  oaths  so  to  deny 
This  chain  which  now  you  wear  so  openly  : 
Beside  the  charge,  the  shame,  imprisonment. 
You  have  done  wrong  to  this  my  honest  friend ; 
Who,  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy, 
Had  hoisted  sail  and  put  to   sea  to-day. 
This  chain  you  had  of  me  :   can  you  deny  it  ? 

Ant.  S.     I  think  I  had :   I  never  did  deny  it. 

Mer.     Yes,    that    you    did,    sir ;    and    forswore    it 
too. 

Ant.  S.     Who  heard  me  to  deny  it,  or  forswear  it  ? 

Mer.     These  ears  of  mine,  thou  know'st,  did  hear 
thee. 
Fie  on  thee,  wretch  !   'tis  pity  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Ant.  S.     Thou  art  a  villain  to  impeach  me  thus. 
I'll  prove  mine  honour  and  mine  honesty 
Against  thee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand. 

Mer.     I  dare,  and  do  defy  thee  for  a  villain. 

\_They  draw. 

Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  Courtezan,  a7id  others. 

Adr.     Hold  !  hurt  him  not,  for  God's  sake  !  he  is 
mad.  — 
Some  get  within  him  ;   take  his  sword  away. 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 
Dro.  S.     Run,   master,  run  ;    for   God's   sake   take 
a  house ! 
This  is  some  priory  :  —  in,  or  wc  arc  spoil'd. 

[^Exeunt  Antipholus  and  Dbomio  to  the  Abbey. 


so.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  191 

Enter  the  Lady  Abbess. 

Abbess.     Be  quiet,  people.     Wherefore  throng  you 
hither  ? 

Adr.     To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence. 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast 
And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

A7ig.     I  knew  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Mer.     I  am  sorry,  now,  that  I  did  draw  on  him. 

Abb.     How  long  hath  this  possession  held  the  man  ? 

Adr.     This  week  he  hath  been  heavy,  sour,  sad  : 
And  much  different  from  the  man  he  was  ; 
But,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  rage. 

Abb.    Hath  he  not  lost  much  wealth  by  wrack  of  sea  ? 
Buried  some  dear  friend  ?     Hath  not  else  his  eye 
Stray' d  his  affection  in  unlawful  love  ? 
A  sin  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men 
Who  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to  ? 

Adr.     To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  last ; 
Namely,   some  love,  that  drew  him  oft  from  home. 

Abb.     You  should  for  that  have  reprehended  him 

Adr.     Why,  so  I  did. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enougl . 

Adr.     As  roughly  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 

Abb.     Haply,  in  private. 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  too 

Abb.     Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr.     It'  was  the  copy  of  our  conference. 
In  bed,  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
At  board,  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 
In  company,  I  often  glanc'd  [at]  it : 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 


192        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.      act  v. 

Ahl.     And  thereof  came  it  that  the  man  was  mad  : 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hinder' d  by  thy  railing, 
And  thereof  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say' St  his  meat  was  sauc'd  with  thy  upbraidings  : 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions  ; 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred  : 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
Thou  say'st  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls  : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy. 
Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair, 
And  at  her  heels  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures  and  foes  to   life  ? 
In  food,  in  sport,  and  life-preserving  rest 
To  be  disturb'd,  would  mad  or  man  or  beast. 
The  consequence  is,  then,  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scar'd  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

Luc.      She  never  reprehended  him  but  mildly, 
Whe,n  he  demean' d  himself  rough,  rude,  and  wildly.  — 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  and  answer  not  ? 

Adr.     She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof.  — 
Good  people,  enter,  and  lay  hold  on  him. 

Ahh.     No  ;  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 

Adr.     Then,  let  your   servants   bring  my  husband 
forth. 

Ahh.     Neither  :    he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary, 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands. 
Till  I  have  brought  him  to  his  wits  again. 
Or  lose  my  labour  in  essaying  it. 

Adr.     I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse, 
Diet  his  sickness  ;    for  it  is  my  office. 
And  will  have  no  attorney  but  myself; 
And  therefore  let  me  have  him  home  with  me. 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  193 

Abb.     Be  patient  ;    for  I  will  not  let  him  stir. 
Till  I  have  us'd  the  approved  means  I  have, 
With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs,  and  holy  prayers. 
To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again. 
It  is  a  branch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  of  my  order ; 
Therefore  depart,  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Adr.     I   will    not   hence,    and   leave    my   husband 
here ; 
And  ill  it  doth  beseem  your  holiness 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

Abb.      Be  quiet,  and  depart :    thou  shalt  not  have 
him.  \_Exit  Abbess. 

Luc.     Complain  unto  the  Duke  of  this  indignity. 

Adr.     Come,  go  :    I  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet. 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  his  Grace  to  come  in  person  hither. 
And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  Abbess. 

Mer.     By  this,  I  think,  the  dial  points  at  five  : 
Anon,  I'm  sure,  the  Duke  himself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale. 
The  place  of  death  and  sorry  execution. 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  Abbey  here. 

Ang.     Upon  what  cause  ? 

Mer.     To  see  a  reverend  Syracusian  merchant. 
Who  put  unluckily  into  this  bay 
Against  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town. 
Beheaded  publicly  for  his  offence. 

Ang.     See,  where  they  come  :    we  will  behold  his 
death. 

Luc.     Kneel  to  the  Duke  before  he  pass  the  Abbev. 

Enter  Duke  attended  :    ^geon  bare-headed  ;  with 
the  Headsman  and  other  Officers. 

Duke.     Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly, 

VOL.    III.  M 


194  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT   V. 

If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  him, 
He  shall  not  die  :    so  much  we  tender  him. 

Adr.     Justice,  most  sacred  Duke,  against  the  Ab- 
bess ! 

Duke.     She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady  : 
It  cannot  be,  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 

Adr.     May  it   please   your  Grace,  Antipholus,  my 
husband. 
Who  I  made  lord  of  me,   and  all  I  had, 
At  your  important  letters,  this  ill  day 
A  most  outrageous  fit  of  madness  took  him. 
That  desp'rately  he  hurried  through  the  street, 
(With  him  his  bondman,  all  as  mad  as  he) 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens 
By  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearing  thence 
Rings,  jewels,  any  thing  his  rage  did  like. 
Once  did  I  get  him  bound,  and  sent  him  home. 
Whilst  to  take  order  for  the  w,rongs  I  went. 
That  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Anon,  I  wot  not  by  what  strong  escape, 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  the  guard  of  him. 
And  with  his  mad  attendant  and  himself, 
Each  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords. 
Met  lis  again,  and,  madly  bent  on  us, 
Chas'd  us  away  :    till,  raising  of  more  aid, 
We  came  again  to  bind  them.     Then  they  fled 
Into  this  Abbey,  whither  we  pursu'd  them  ; 
And  here  the  Abbess  shuts  the  gates  on  us, 
And  will  not  suffer  us  to  fetch  him  out. 
Nor  send  him  forth,  that  we  may  bear  him  hence. 
Therefore,  most  gracious  Duke,  wdth  thy  command. 
Let  him  be  brought  forth,  and  borne  hence  for  help. 

Duke.     Long   since   thy  husband  serv'd  me  in  my 
wars. 
And  I  to  thee  engag'd  a  prince's  word. 


sc. 


COMEDY   OF    ERRORS.  195 


I 


When  thou  didst  make  him  master  of  thy  bed, 
To  do  him  all  the  grace  and  good  I  could.  — 
Go,  some  of  you,  knock  at  the  Abbey  gate, 
And  bid  the  Lady  Abbess  come  to  me. 
I  will  determine  this  before  I  stir. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.      O  mistress,  mistress  !    shift  and  save   your- 
self. 
My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose, 
Beaten  the  maids  a-row,  and  bound  the  doctor. 
Whose    beard    they  have    sing'd    off   with   brands  of 

fire  ; 
And  ever,  as  it  blaz'd,  they  threw  on  him 
Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to   quench  the  hair. 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him ;   and,  the  while. 
His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  fool  ; 
And,  sure,  unless  you  send  some  present  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 

Adr.     Peace,  fool  !    thy  master    and    his    man    are 
here  : 
And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  us. 

Serv.     Mistress,  upon  my  life,  I  tell  you    true  ; 
I  have  not  breath' d,  almost,  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you,  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you. 
To  scorch  your  face,  and  to  disfigure  you. 

\_Cry  within 
Hark,  hark,   I  hear  him,  mistress  :    fly,  be  gone. 
Duke.      Come,  stand  by  me  ;    fear  nothing.      Guard 

with  halberds  ! 
Adr.     Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband !     Witness  you. 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible  : 
Even  now  we  hous'd  him  in  the  Abbey  here. 
And    now  he's    there,    past    thought    of    human  rea- 
son. 


196  COMEDY   OF  ERRORS.  act  v. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dkomio  of  Ephesus. 

Ant.  E.     Justice,  most  gracious  Duke  !     O  !  grant 
me  justice, 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars,  and  took 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life  ;    even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

-^ge.     Unless  the  fear  of  death  doth  make  me  dote, 
I  see  my  son  Antipholus,  and  Dromio  ! 

Ant.  E.     Justice,  sweet  Prince,  against  that  woman 
there  ! 
She  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife, 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonour'd  me. 
Even  in  the  strength  and  height  of  injury. 
Beyond  imagination   is   the  wrong 
That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 

Duke.     Discover  how,  and  thou  shalt  find  me  just. 

Ant.  E.     This  day,  great  Duke,  she  shut  the  doors 
upon  me. 
While  she  with  harlots  feasted  in   my  house. 

Duke.     A  grievous  fault.      Say,  woman,  didst  thou 
so  ? 

Adr.     No,  my  good  lord  :  myself,  he,  and  my  sis- 
ter. 
To-day  did  dine  together.      So  befall  my  soul. 
As  this  is  false  he  burthens  me  withal. 

Luc.     Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night. 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth. 

Aug.      O,    perjur'd    woman !     They    are    both    for- 
sworn : 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

Ant.  E.     My  liege,  I  am  advised  what  I  say ; 
Neither  disturb'd  with  the  effect  of  wine, 
Nor  heady-rash  provok'd  with  raging  ire. 


sc.    I.  COMEDY    OF   EKRORS.  197 

Albeit  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 

This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner : 

That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  her. 

Could  witness  it,  for  he  was  with  me  then  ; 

Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 

Promising  to  bring  it  to  the  Porpentine, 

Where  Balthazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 

Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  thither, 

I  went  to  seek  him  :    in  the   street  I  met  him^ 

And  in  his  company,  that  gentleman. 

There  did  this  perjur'd  goldsmith  swear  me  down. 

That  I  this   day  of  him  receiv'd  the  chain. 

Which,  God  he  knows,  I  saw  not ;    for  the  which 

He  did  arrest  me  with  an  officer. 

I  did  obey,  and  sent  my  peasant  home 

For  certain  ducats  :    he  with  none  return'd. 

Then  fairly  I  bespoke  the   officer. 

To  go  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 

B'  th'  way  we  met  my  wife,  her  sister,  and  a  rabble 

more 
Of  vile  confederates  :    along  with  them 
They  brought  one  Pinch,  a  hungry  lean-fac'd  villain, 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank, 
A  thread-bare  juggler,  and  a  fortune-teller, 
A  needy,  hollow-ey'd,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living  dead  man.     This  pernicious  slave. 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer, 
.  And,  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse. 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  out-facing  me. 
Cries  out,-  I  was  possess'd.     Then,  altogether 
They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence. 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together  ; 
Till,   gnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gain'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 


198        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     act  v. 

Ran  hither  to  youi-  Grace,   whom  I  beseech 

To  give  me  ample   satisfaction 

For  these  deep  shames  and  great  indignities. 

Ang.     My  lord,  in  truth,   thus   far  I  witness  with 
him. 
That  he  din'd  not  at  home,  but  was  lock'd  out. 

Duke.      But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee,  or  no  ? 

Ang.      He  had,  my  lord ;   and  when  he  ran  in  here, 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 

Mer.      Besides,  I  will  be  sworn,  these  ears  of  mine 
Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him, 
After  you  first  forswore  it  on  the  mart, 
And,  thereupon,   I   drew  my  sword  on  you  ; 
And  then  you  fled  into  this  Abbey  here, 
From  whence,   I  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

Ant.  E.      I  never   came  within  these  Abbey  walls, 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me. 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  Heaven  ! 
And  this  is  false  you  burthen  me  withal. 

Duke.     Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is   this ! 
I  think  you  all  have  drunk  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  hous'd  him,  here  he  would  have   been  ; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so   coldly :  — 
You  say  he  din'd  at  home  ;    the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying.  —  Sirrah,  what  say  you  ? 

D7'o.  E.      Sir,  he  din'd  with  her,  there,  at  the    Por- 
pentine. 

Cour.     He  did,  and  from  my  finger  snatch' d  that 
ring. 

Ant.  E.      'Tis  true,  my  liege  ;    this  ring  I  had  of 
her. 

Duke.      Saw'st  thou  him  enter  at  the  Abbey  here  ? 

Cour.     As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  Grace. 

Duke.     Why,  this  is  strange.  —  Go  call  the  Abbess 
hither.  — 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  199 

I  think  you  arc  all  mated,  or  stark  mad. 

\_Exit  ail  Attendant. 

JEge.     Most  might}-  Duke,  vouchsafe  me   speak  a 
word. 
Haply,   I  see  a  friend  will  save  my  life, 
And  pay  the  sum  that  may  deliver  me. 

Duke.      Speak    freely,   Syracusian,  what   thou   wilt. 

jiEge.     Is  not  your  name,  sir,   call'd  Antipholus, 
And  is  not  that  your  bondman  Dromio  ? 

Dro.  E.     "Within    this    hour    I  was    his   bondman, 
sir  ; 
But  he,  I  thank  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords  : 
Now  am  I   Dromio,   and  his    man,  unbound. 

Mge.     I  am  sure  you  both  of  you  remember  me. 

Dro.  E.      Ourselves  we  do  remember,  sir,  by  you : 
For  lately  we  were  bound,  as  you  are  now. 
You  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir? 

JSge.      Why  look  you  strange  on  me  ?    you  know 
me  well. 

Ant.  E.     I  never  saw  you  in  my  life  till  now. 

-iEge.     0  !    grief  hath  chang'd   me   since    you    saw 
me  last ; 
And  careful  hours,  with  Time's  deformed  hand, 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face  : 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice  ? 

Ant.  E.     Neither. 

■lEge.  Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

Dru.  E.     No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

■/Ege.  I  am  sure  thou  dost. 

Dru.  £:  Ay,  sir ;  but  I  am  sure  I  do  not ;  and 
whatsoever  a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  to  be- 
lieve him. 

^ge.     Not  know  my  voice  ?     O,  time's  extremity  ! 
Hast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue 
In  seven  short  years  that  here  my  only  son 


b 


200        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.      act  v. 

Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untun'd  cares  ? 
Though  now  this  grained  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap-consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow, 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up. 
Yet  hath  my  night  of  life  some  memory. 
My  wasting  lamps  some  fading  glimmer  left, 
My  dull,  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear  : 
All  these  old  witnesses  (I  cannot  err) 
Tell  me  thou  art  my  son  Antipholus. 

Ant.  E.     I  never  saw  my  father  in  my  life. 

^ge.      But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  boy. 
Thou  know' St  we  parted.      But,  perhaps,  my  son. 
Thou  sham'st  to  acknowledge  me  in  misery. 

Ant.  E.     The  Duke,  and  all  that  know  me  in  the 
city. 
Can  witness  with  me  that  it  is  not  so. 
I  ne'er  saw  Syracusa  in  my  life. 

Duke.     I  tell  thee,   Syracusian,  twenty  years 
Have  I  been  patron  to  Antipholus, 
During  which  time  he  ne'er   saw  Syracusa. 
I  see,  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

Enter  Abbess,  with  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and 
Dromio   of  Syracuse. 

Abb.     Most     mighty    Duke,    behold    a    man    much 

wrono-'d.  \^AJl  gather  to  see  them. 

A  dr.     I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine   eyes    deceive 

me  ! 
Duke.     One  of  these  men  is  Genius  to  the  other ; 
And  so  of  these  :    which  is  the  natural  man. 
And  which  the  spirit?     Who  deciphers  them? 

Dro.  S.     I,  sir,  am  Dromio  :    command  him  away. 
Dro.  E.     I,  sir,  am  Dromio  :    pray  let  me  stay. 
Ant.   S.     .Egeon,  art  thou  not?  —  or  else  his  ghost. 
Dro.  S.      O,  my  old  master  !     Who  hath  bound  him 
here  ? 


sc. 


COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  201 


Abb.     Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  his  bonds, 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty.  — 
Speak,  old  .Egeon,  if  thou  be'st  the  man 
That  hadst  a  wife  once  call'd  ^Emilia, 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  sons. 
0  !  if  thou  be'st  the  same  ^Egeon,  speak, 
And  speak  unto  the  same  -^Emilia  ! 

Mge.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  .Emilia. 
If  thou  art  she,  tell  me,  where  is  that  son 
That  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft  ? 

Abb.      By  men  of  Epidamnum,  he,  and  I, 
And  the  twin  Dromio,  all  were  taken  up  ; 
But.  by  and  by,  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them, 
And  me  they  left  with  those  of  Epidamnum. 
What  then  became  of  them,  I  cannot  tell  ; 
I,  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 

Duke.     Why,  here  begins  his  morning  story  right. 
These  two  Antipholus',  these  two  so  like. 
And  these  two  Dromios,  one  in  semblance,  — 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wrack  at  sea ;  — 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  children, 
Which  accidentally  are  met  together. 
Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  first. 

Ant.  S.     No,  sir,  not  I  :    I  came  from  Syracuse. 

Duke.     Stay,    stand   apart  :    I   know   not   which    is 
which. 

Ant.  E.     I   came   from  Corinth,  my  most  gracious 
lord. 

Dro.  E.     And  I  with  him. 

Ant.  E.     Brought   to   this   town   by  that   most   fa- 
mous warrior, 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 

Adr.     Which  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to-day  ? 

Anf.  S.     I,  gentle  mistress. 


202  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  v. 

Adr.     And  are  not  you  my  husband  ? 

Ant.  E.     No  ;    I   say  nay  to  that. 

Arit.  S.     And  so  do  I,   yet  did  she  call  me  so  ; 
-And  this  fair  gentlewoman,  her  sister  here, 
Did  call  me  brother.  —  What  I  told  you  then, 
I  hope  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good. 
If  this  be  not  a  dream  I  see  and  hear. 

A7ig.     That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

Aiit.  S.     I  think  it  be,  sir  :    I  deny  it  not. 

Ant.  E.     And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me. 

Ang.     I  think  I  did,   sir  :   I  deny  it  not. 

Adr.     I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail, 
By  Dromio  ;    but  I  think,  he  brought  it  not. 

Dro.  E.     No,  none  by  me. 

Ant.  S.     This  purse  of  ducats  I  receiv'd  from  you, 
And  Dromio,  my  man,   did  bring  them  me. 
I  see,  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man. 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  him,  and  he  for  me. 
And  thereupon  these  errors  all  arose. 

Ant.  E.     These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke.     It  shall  not  need  :   thy  father  hath  his  life. 

Cour.      Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

Ant.  E.     There,  take  it ;   and  much  thanks  for  my 
good  cheer. 

Abb.     Renowned  Duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  us  into  the  Abbey  here. 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes  ; 
ind  all  that  are  assembled  in  this  place. 
That  by  this  sympathized  one  day's  error 
Have  sufFer'd  wrong,  go,  keep  us  company. 
And  we  shall  make  full  satisfaction. 
Twenty-five  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons  ;    and  till  this  present  hour 
My  heavy  burthen  here  delivered.  — 
The  Duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both, 


sc.   I.  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  203 

And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
Go  to  a  gossips'  feast,  and  joy  with  me  : 
After  so  long  grief,  such  nativity ! 

Duke.     With  all  my  heart  :   I'll  gossip  at  this  feast. 
\_Exeunt  Duke,  Abbess,  ^geon.   Courtezan, 
Merchant,  Axgelo,  and  Attendants. 
Dro.  S.      Master,  shall  I  fetch  your  stuff  from  ship- 
board ? 
Ant.  E.     Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou  em- 

bark'd  ? 
Dro.  S.     Your  goods,  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the 

Centaur. 
A7it.  S.     He   speaks   to   me.  —  I   am   your  master, 
Dromio  : 
Come,  go  with  us  ;  we'll  look  to  that  anon. 
Embrace  thy  brother  there  ;    rejoice  with  him. 

[^Exeunt  Ant.   S.   and  E.,  Adr.,  and  Luc. 
Dro.  S.     There    is    a    fat    friend    at    your   master's 
house. 
That  kitchen' d  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner  : 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 

Dro.  E.     Methinks,  you  are  my  glass,  and  not  my 
brother  : 
I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet-fac'd  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossiping  ? 
Dro.  S.     Not  I,  sir  :    you  are  my  elder. 
Dro.  E.    That's  a  question:    how  shall  we  try  it? 
Dro.  S.     We'll  draw  cuts  for  the  senior :   till  then, 
lead  thou  first. 

Dro.  E.  "  Nay,  then  thus  : 
We  came  into  the  world  like  brother  and  brother; 
And  now,  let's  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before  an- 
other. \_Exeunt. 


NOTES    ON    THE    COMEDY    OF 
ERRORS. 


ACT    FIRST. 


Scene  I. 

141.      " wanting   guilders"  :  —  The  guilder   is  both   a 

Flemish  and  a  German  coin ;  the  former  being  about 
thii-ty-eight  cents  in  value,  the  latter  about  eighty-seven. 

"  "  Both  by  the  Syracusians  "  :  —  This  is  the  uniform  or- 

thography of  the  folio,  showing  plainly  that  the  presence 
of  the  i  is  not  accidental,  and  indicating  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  -word.  Therefore,  and  not  because  Bentley 
approved  of  it,  it  is  retained.  Bentley  was  at  the  need- 
less trouble  of  deriving  Syracusians  from  Svoayvoiui ;  but 
a  similar  mtroduction  of  i  is  a  very  common  error  in 
classic  neology. 
,  142.  "  And  by  me  [too]  "  :  —  '  Too,'  omitted  in  the  first,  was 
added  in  the  second  folio. 

"  " voyages  I  often  made  "  :  —  A  merchant  was  said 

to  make  a  voyage  when  he  sent  a  ship  on  one.  It  is  evi- 
dent, from  the  context,  that  JEtjeoii  did  not  go  to  Epi- 
damnum  until  after  the  death  of  his  factor  there. 

"  "To  Epidammun"  :  —  This  word  is  uniformly  spelled 

"  Epidamium  "  in  the  first  folio  ;  but  being  a  proper  name, 
it  is  corrected,  although  an  English  adjective  formed  from 
it,  like  "  SjTacusian,"  above,  should  not  be.  The  case 
difi^ers,  too,  from  that  of"  '  Argier '  in  The  Tempest ;  that 
beiiTg  a  different  word  from  '  Algiers,'  not  an  improper 
spelling  of  it.  Epidanuium  is  the  town  at  which  the 
travelling  brother  in  the  Mencechmi  arrives. 

"  "A  meaner  woman,"  &c.  :  —  The  folio  has  "  A  meane 

woman,"  —  the  ;•  having  dropped  out.  This  slight  error 
not  having  been  perceived,  the  interpolation  of  '  poor,'  — 
"  A  poor  mean  Avoman,"  —  made  in  the  second  folio,  has, 

(20,5) 


206  COMEDV    OF    EREORS.  act   i. 

of  necessity,  been  hitherto  retained,  in  spite  of  the  disa- 
greeable repetition  of  the  word  in  the  next  Une  but  one. 
That  the  use  of  the  comparative  implied  no  positive  mean- 
ness of  condition  in  JEyeon  s  wife,  the  whole  literature  of 
Shakespeare's  day,  and  these  two  instances  out  of  several 
in  his  own  plays,  may  be  brought  to  prove. 

"  Pros.  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  service 
Did  worthily  perform."      Tempest,  Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

"  Q.U.  EUz.  And  meaner  than  myself  have  had  like 
fortune."     3  Henry  VI.,  Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

p.  144.  "  Were  carried  towards  Corinth"  :  — The  original  has 
"  Was  carried,"  a  disagreement  wliich  is  of  very  frequent 
occurrence  in  the  original  text  of  this  comedy.  It  may 
possibly  be  the  result  of  carelessness,  but  seems  rather  to 
be  indicative  of  the  early  period  at  which  parts  of  the 
play  were  Avrittcn.  See  the  Preface,  Vol.  I.  Perhaps 
this  antique  rudeness  should  not  be  polished  away  ;  but 
the  text  h;is  been  for  so  many  years  regulated  according 
to  established  usage,  and  an  adherence  to  the  original 
would  so  deform  the  language  and  annoy  the  general 
reader,  that  previous  custom  has  been  conformed  to.  In 
all  editions  hitherto  the  change  has  been  made  silently. 

" violently   borne    xipon  "  :  —  The    original    has 

'^up,"  the  second  folio  "up  upon."  The  correction  re- 
quired is  obvious. 

"  "  Gave  Jiealthful  welcome  "  :  —  The  second  folio  need- 

lessly substituted  "helpiwl,"  which  many  editors  adopted. 

p.  14.5.  "  What  hath  befall'n  of  them,  and  thee  "  :  —  The  origi- 
nal has  "  have  "  and  "  they."  The  correction  was  made 
m  the  second  folio. 

"  "Roaming   clean   through,"   &c.  :  —  This  word,  in  its 

sense  of  '  entirely,'  '  perfectly,'  is  so  commonly  used  in 
America,  that  Steevens'  remark,  made  seventy-five  years 
ago,  that  it  is  "  still  used  in  the  northern  parts  of  Eng- 
land," is  valuable  on  this  side  the  water  only  because  it 
is  one  of  the  many  evidences  that  the  English  of  the  Bilile 
and  of  Shakespeare  exists  in  greater  purity  here  than  there. 

"  "To  seek  thy   [life]  "  :  —  The  original  has,  "To  seek 

thy  /*(•//;  by  beneficial  help."  This  part  of  the  play  was 
surely  written  by  Shakespeare,  and  although  Mr.  Dyce 
says,  in  the  words  of  Malone,  that  the  jingle  is  quite  in 
Shakespeare's  manner,  let  who  will  believe  that  he  \\r()te, 
at  any  time,  such  tautological  nonsense.  Shakespeare 
often  repeats  a  word,  or  uses  one  which  sounds  much  like 
another  which  has  just  preceded  it,  in  a  manner  seeming 
to  indicate  that  he  sought  the  <  juigle,'  or,  rather,  I  think. 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  207 

that  the  similarity  of  sound  suggested  the  second  word  ; 
but  he  never  sacrifices  sense  to  sound,  as  he  would 
have  done  by  saying  that  a  man  sought  help  by  help. 
Mr.  Singer  proposed  to  read  '  fine; '  Mr.  Collier  suggested 
'  hope,'  which  was  afterward  found  in  his  folio  of  1632; 
but  it  was  ^Egeon's  life  that  he  was  to  seek  by  beneficial 
help.  The  Duke  says,  "  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the 
death,  yet  will   I  favour  thee;   .  .   .  therefore  I'll  limit 

thee  this  day  to  seek  thy  " what  ?     With  what  other 

word  than  '  life '  could  he  fitly  close  his  sentence  ?  The 
error  did  not  result  from  a  mistake  of  one  word  for  the 
other,  but  almost  surely  from  a  confusion  of  memory  in 
the  mind  of  the  compositor,  who  set  the  whole  line  at 
once.     Pope  read  '  life.' 

p.  146.      " doth  ^-Egeon  wend  "  :  —  Steevens   and  others, 

writing  for  our  great  grandfathers,  and  Halliwell,  writing 
for  us,  call  this  word  obsolete.  In  America  it  is  not  as 
commonly  used  as  'come'  or  'go,'  only  because  there  is 
less  frequent  occasion  for  it. 

''  " his  liveless  end  "  :  —  So  the  first  folio  :  not  by  a 

typographical  error  or  careless  writing,  or  from  unsettled 
orthography,  but  because  that  was  a  form  of  the  word 
in  use  when  the  line  was  Avritten. 

Scene  II. 

"  "  Enter  Axtipholus  "  :  —  The  old  stage  direction  here 

is,  "  Enter  Axtipholus  Erotes,"  afterward  Axtipholus 
Errotis,  —  corruptions  of  Erraticus.     See  Introduction. 

"  "  A  trusty  villain  "  ;  —  a  faithful  bondsman  :  the  origi- 

nal signification  of  the  word.  So  lago  speaks  of  "  honest 
knaves,"  —  'knave'  meanmg  'servant.'  See  Xotes  on 
Othello,  Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

p.  147.  "  And  afterwards  consort  you,"  &c. :  —  It  is  more  than 
probable  that  '  with  '  has  dropped,  or  was  omitted,  be- 
tween "consort"  and  "you;"  but  'consort'  was  used 
without  the  preposition  ;  and  the  rhythm  of  the  line  may 
be  preserved  by  making  "bed  time"  a  spondee. 

p.  148.      "  I  shall  be  post  indeed  "  :  —  Scores  were  kept  on  posts. 
»  "  Kate  she  keeps  the  schore,  syr, 

And  schores  yt  on  the  post." 
See  the  third  of  Three  Curious  Ballads,  published  by  the 
Shakespeare  Society,    liut  the  post  thus  scored  was  prob- 
ably the  door-post. 

"  " should  be  your  clock  "  ;  —  The  folio  has  "  cook  .-  " 

—  a  manifest  error,  corrected  by  Pope. 

p.  149.     "  The  villain  is  o'er-raught  "  :  —  over-reached. 


208  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  ACT  ii. 

ACT   SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

p.  loO.  "  Court  in  the  House  of  Antipholus  "  :  —  The  original 
is  without  stage  directions,  or  division  into  Scenes.  Mod- 
em editors,  from  and  including  ^lalone,  have  most  unac- 
countably made  the  interviews  between  Aclriaiia  and  her 
sister  and  Dromio  and  others,  occur  in  "  A  public  Place." 
Setting  aside  the  absurdity  of  making  two  women  ^^■alk 
out  into  a  street  or  square  on  either  of  the  occasions  m 
question,  on  this,  Adriana  says  that  neither  husband  nor 
slave  has  returned ;  and  when  Dromio  appears,  she  tells 
him  twice  to  go  back  to  his  master  and  fetch  him  /wine, 
and  he  replies,  "  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  Z  " 
It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  the  place  of  the  Scene  is 
the  house  of  Antipholus.  I  have  placed  it  in  the  court ; 
because  in  Eastern  houses,  and  those  of  all  tropical  coun- 
tries, there  is  an  inner  court  open  to  the  street,  m  which 
the  females  of  the  household  pass  much  time  :  into  this 
court  the  Dromios  would  run  with  their  messages,  and  in 
a  part  of  such  a  court,  covered  with  an  arched  roof,  Adri- 
ana would  most  probably  sit  at  dinner  in  the  hrst  Scene 
of  the  next  Act. 

"  " he  takes  it  [ill]  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  he  takes  it 

thus."  That  the  text,  which  is  that  of  the  second  folio,  is 
correct,  appears  not  only  from  the  rhjTne,  but  the  sense. 
'  Thus '  refers  to  nothing. 

p.  lol.  "  Spake  he  so  douhtfully  "  :  —  Both  here  and  in  Dro- 
miu's  reply,  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  16o2  has  "doubly." 

p.  152.      "  ne  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  "  :  —  The  original 
has  "  a.  hundred ;"  an  error  which  was  corrected  in  the 
second  folio. 
//  K  "vvill  you  come  [home],  quoth  I  "  :  — Theobald  sup- 

plied the  word  in  brackets,  which  is  not  in  the  folio,  but 
which  the  rhythm  requires,  and  which  was  probably 
passed  over  in  MS.  on  account  of  its  similarity  to  the 
word  immediately  before  it. 

p.  1.53.      " his  stale  "  ;  —  Steevcns  takes  this  to  mean  '  his 

pretended  Avife,'  the  sportsman's  stalking  horse  having 
been  called  a  stale  ;  but  is  not  the  more  obvious  significa- 
tion of  the  word  the  more  appropriate  ? 

"  "  Would  that  alone,  alone,"  &c. :  —  The  original  has 

"a  loce  "  for  the  second  '  alone  :  '  an  obvious  error,  cor- 
rected in  the  second  folio. 


^ 


sc.   II.  NOTES.  209 

p.  1.53.     "  I  see  tne  jewel,"  &c. :  —  This  passage  stands  thus 
corrupted  in  the  folio  :  — 

"  I  see  the  lewell  best  enameled 
Will  loose  his  beautie  :  yet  the  gold  bides  still 
That  others  touch,  and  often  touching  Avill, 
Where  gold  and  no  man  that  hath  a  name, 
By  falshood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame." 
The  restoration  is  the  resultant  of  the  labors  of  Theobald, 
(or  Warburton,)  Steevens,  and  Collier.     The  corruption 
was  produced  by  mistaking  '  tho' '  for  '  the,'  '  an '  for  '  and,' 
and  '  wear '  (by  the  ear)  for  '  where.'     Theobald  read, 
"  and  so  no  man  that  hath  a  name 
But  falsehood,"  &c.  : 
Heath,  more  plausibly, 

'•  and  so  a  man  that  hath  a  name 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame." 

Scene  II. 

p.  155.  "  Hold,  sir  —  Pray,  sir —  Ay,  sir  —  Nothing,  sir  "  :  — 
This  use  of  '  sir,'  —  a  word  which  is  scattered  in  just  this 
way  through  the  dramatic  literature  of  the  golden  age  of 
EngUsh  letters  and  of  the  English  language  "  as  thick  as 
leaves  in  Vallombrosa," — the  Great  Britons  of  to-day 
sneer  at  as  an  Americanism  !  It  occurs  here,  in  a  short 
dialogue,  at  least  twenty  times,  and  in  Act  V.  Sc.  1,  p. 
202,  live  times  in  live  consecutive  lines. 

p.  156.      " _fine  and  recovery"  :  —  This  is  a  law  term  for  a 

now  obsolete  mode  of  transferring  a  title  to  real  estate. 
The  freqvient  occurrence  of  such  phrases  iia  Shakespeare's 
works  and  his  verj'  accurate  use  of  them,  have  been  just- 
ly considered  as  evidence  that  he  had  studied  law  before 
he  went  to  London.     See  Li^'e,  Vol.  I. 

"  " what  he  hath  scanted  tneti  in    hair"  :  —  Th" 

original  has  "  them."  Theobald  made  the  necessary  cor- 
rection. 

p.  167.      " in  a  thmg/a///«i7  "  ;  —  The  folio  has  "falsing,'' 

with  a  long  s,  of  course,  —  a  very  easy  mistake  for  the 
word  in  the  text,  which  was  suggested  by  Heath,  though 
on  very  insufficient  ground.  That  it  is  the  word,  how- 
ever, is  shown  by  Antiphnlus'  expression,  "  not  stire,"  (for 
'  sure '  w-as  of  old  opposed  not  to  '  false,'  but  to  '  uncer- 
tain,' '  insecure,')  and  Dromio's,  "  they  should  not  drop  ;  " 
and  besides,  in  what  possible  sense  is  the  hair  falsing  f 
Yet  that  word  has  hitherto  been  retained. 

"  " to  save  the  money  that  he  spends  m  trimming"  : 

—  The  folio  has   "  trying"   quite  plainly   an    error    for 
VOL.   III.  N 


210  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  act  ir. 

'  trjining,'  —  the  loss  of  a  man's  hair  saving  him,  of 
course,  all  expense  in  getting  it  cut.  Pope  read  "  'tiring," 
which  is  less  conformable  to  the  sense  and  the  old  word. 
The  proper  word  appears  in  both  Mr.  Collier's  and  Mr. 
Singer's  corrected  copies  of  the  folio  of  1632. 

p.  157.  " namely,  is  no  time  to  recover  hair  "  :  —  An  elis- 
ion for  'there  is,  'quite  suitable  to  Dromio.  We  have 
had  the  same  just  before  in  Measure  for  Measure,  Act  1. 
So.  5,  tmce. 

"  The  Duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from,  hence ; 
—  Bore  many  gentlemen,"  &c., 
for  '  He  bore,'  &c.  : 

"  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  r 

Has  censur'd  him,"  &c., 
for  '  He  has  censured,'  &c. ;  and  we  have  the  same  just 
after  in  this  plav.  Act  IV.  Sc.  2,  "  But  is  in  a  suit  of 
buff,"  &c.,  for  ""But  he  is  in,"  &c.  The  first  folio  has 
"  in  no  time,"  —  easily  misprinted  for  "  is,"  &c.  But 
the  error  has  hitherto  remained  undetected  ;  Malone  and 
all  his  successors  reading  "  e'en,"  a  forced  correction  and 
a  strange  expression  in  this  place,  and  the  second  folio, 
which  !Mr.  Dyce  would  follow,  cutting  the  knot  by  drop- 
ping the  word  altogether. 

p.  158.  "  I  live  distain'd,  thou  one  dishonoured"  :  —  The  folio 
has  "  undishonoured,"  a  very  easy  typographical  error  for 
'  one  dishonoured,'  — '  one '  bemg  spelled  '  o  «  ' .-  see  Notes 
on  this  word,  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  II.  Sc.  1,  and 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Sc.  1.  The  error,  how- 
ever, has  hitherto  remained  uncorrected,  and  has  caused 
much  trouble,  and  a  per\-ersion  of  the  author's  meaning. 
It  has  been  even  attempted  to  make  "distain'd"  mean 
'  unstained,'  that  is,  exactly  the  reverse  of  what  it  does 
and  ever  did  mean ;  which  is  absurd,  as  Mr.  Dyce  per- 
ceived ;  and  he,  therefore,  (Theobald  having  made  the 
suggestion,)  would  have  it  a  misprint  for  '  i^/^stained,' 
which  is  not  probable,  especially  if  it  were  succeeded  by 
'  (/7i-dishonourcd.'  Besides,  this  gives  a  meaning  directly 
opposed  to  the  tenor  of  Adriana's  speech.  She  believes 
Antipholus  guilty  ;  and  says  to  him,  "  I  am  possessed 
with  an  adulterate  blot,"  "  I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy 
flesh,"  Ski.-.,  "Keep,  then,  fair  league,"  &c.,  for  now  "I 
live  distain'd,  thou  one  dishonoured." 

"  "  Want  wit  in  all,  one  Avord,"  &c. :  —  Never  was  point 

more  needed,  even  in  the  prologue  to  Py ramus  and  Thishe, 
to  i^rcvont  plain  sense  from  becoming  absolute  nonsense  ; 
and  yet  tliis  comma,  which  appears  in  the  original  folio, 
has,  strangely  enough,  been  omitted  in  every  modem  edi- 
tion until  the  present. 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  211 

p.  160.      " the  forced  fallacy  "  :  —  The  original  has  "free'd," 

which,  being  manifestly  an  error,  Pojje  read  \fncotired,' 
Steevens  'offered,'  and  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  'prof- 
fered.' The  second  word  has  been  hitherto  justly  preferred 
to  a  place  in  the  text,  as  it  conforms  most  nearly  both  to 
the  sense  of  the  passage  and  to  the  trace  of  the  Avord  in 
the  original,  although  remote  enough  from  the  latter. 
Adriana's  persistence,  and  Antipholus'  phrase,  "  sure  un- 
certainty," in  the  previous  line,  show  that  there  was  an 
easily  made  misprint  of  'free'd'  for  'forced.' 

" goblins,  owles,  [elres,]  and  sprites  "  :  —  The  origi- 
nal has  "goblins,  owles,  and  sprights,"  thus  leaving  the 
line  imperfect.  The  second  folio  has  "  goblins,  owles,  and 
elves  sprights,"  upon  which  the  hitherto  accepted  read- 
ing, "goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites,"  is  founded.  But 
as  Shakespeare  never  elsewhere  designates  sprites  or  faii'ies 
as  elvish,  although  he  had  so  often  occasion  for  doing  so, 
had  he  deemed  the  epithet  a  tit  or  a  proper  one,  and  as 
elves  always  figure  iii  his  fairy  land,  we  are  Avarrantcd 
in  believmg  that  he  did  not  make  this  one  instance  dou- 
bly exceptional.  "Owles"  is  retained  because  its  old 
dissyllabic  pronunciation  of  the  plural  seems  evidently 
iaitended  here.  For  these  reasons  the  editor  had  thus  reg- 
ulated the  line  before  the  discovery  of  Mr.  Collier's  folio 
of  1632,  m  which  the  same  reading  Avas  found. 

"  Dromio,  thou  drone  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  Dromio, 
thou  Dromio,"  wlrich,  if  it  stood  alone,  and  Luciaiia  were 
calling  out  to  Dromio  at  a  distance,  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion, would  be  correct,  as  such  repetition  was  the  habit  of 
the  time  :  but  she  is  evidently  relievmg  her  vexation  by 
heaping  abusive  ej^ithets  upon  him,  and  he  stands  close  bv, 
attending  to  her.  The  second  'Dromio,'  too,  crushes  a  line 
already  overloaded  by  the  first.  The  habit  alluded  to 
probably  produced  the  mispiint,  which  Theobald  pointed 
out. 

ACT    THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

p.  161.  "  Btfore  the  house  of  Antipholus  "  :  —  Since  Malone's 
time  the  locality  of  this  Scene  has  been,  in  all  editions 
hitherto,  A  Public  Place.  But  it  plainly  passes  before 
the  house  of  Antipholus  ;  and  though  that  Avas  a  public 
place,  so  Avas  any  other  part  of  the  city.  See  the  cor- 
responding Note,  Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

p.  162.  "  Mome  .  .  .  idiot,  patch"  : — '  Mome/  a  AA'ord  of 
uncertain  etymology,  meant   '  a  stupid  fool '  :    '  patch,' 


212        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     act  hi. 

applied  at  first  to  a  professed  fool,  from  his  party-colored 
costume,  (instances  of  which  use  of  the  word  are  fre- 
quent in  these  plays,)  was  also  used  as  a  term  of  con- 
tempt and  reproach  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  old  rhj-me, 
preseiTcd  by  that  eminent  littit  rat  rice  to  whom  we  owe 
more  than  "  to  any,  or  perhaps  all,  of  her  successors, 
yiothcr  Goose  :  — 

"  Cross  patch,  draw  the  latch. 
Sit  by  the  fire  and  spin." 

p.  163.      " thy  name  for  a  face"  :  —  The  folio  has   "  an 

asse,"  with  two  long  s's.  What  Dromio  could  mean  by 
changing  a  name  for  an  ass,  would  pose  the  Sphinx  aiid 
(lEdipus.  Both  the  sense  and  the  rhyme  justify  the  reading 
in  the  text,  which  appeared  in  Mr.  CoUier's  folio  of  1632. 

p.  164.  "  If  thy  name  be  called  Luce, 

I^uce,  thou  hast  answered  him  well." 
To  understand  Dromio  of  Syracuse's  connnendation  of 
the  girl's  retort  to  his  brother's  proverb,  it  is  necessary  to 
remember  that  a  pike  was  called  a  luce. 

"  "  Do  you  hear,  you  minion,"  &c.  :  —  Malone's  conjec- 

ture, that  a  line  had  been  lost  here,  which  he  rested  only 
upon  the  lack  of  a  rhjane  for  "  hope  "  at  the  end  of  this  one, 
is  supported  by  the  subseqvient  context.  As  the  text 
stands  now.  Luce's  reply  to  Antipholus,  Dromio  of  Syra- 
cuse's reply  to  her,  and  his  brother's  remark  upon  the 
retort,  are  not  only  without  point,  but  actually  without 
a  subject.  Theobald  tried  to  help  the  matter  by  reading 
'  I  trow,'  which  supplies  the  rhyme  by  making  a  triplet ; 
and  the  same  reading  was  found  in  Mr.  ( 'ollier's  folio  of 
1632  ;  but  the  missing  rhyme  is  the  least  of  the  trouble. 
Should  the  Ilistorie  of  Error  ever  come  to  light,  what  is 
lost  may  possibly  be  found. 

"  "  Let  him  knock  till  it  ache  "  .•  —  The  original  spells 

this  word  ake.  Although  the  noun  Avas  pronounced 
'  aitch,'  the  verb,  whether  singuhu-  or  plural,  seems  to 
have  had  the  ch  hard. 

p.  16.5.  "  It  seems  thou  want'st  breaking"  :  — In  the  original 
we  have  "  It  seemes  ;  "  and  although  this  A\as  the  com- 
mon orthography  of  the  time,  it  would  appear  from  the 
rhythm  that  the  ancient  dissyllabic  pronunciation  was 
intended  ;  else  A\hy  was  '  wantcst '  contracted  ?  So,  in 
the  next  line  but  one,  we  have  "  I  when  fowlrs  "  in  the 
original ;  a  second  syllable  being  equally  desirable  for  the 
rhythm.  The  aspect  of  the  rhyming  part  of  this  Scene 
is  in  all  respects  consistent  with  the  supposition  that  it 
was  written  before  Shakespeare's  day. 


sc.  ir.  NOTES.  213 

p.  16o.  " of  her  wisdom"  :  —  The  folio  has  "your  ■wis- 
dom," by  a  mistake  so  palpable  as  hardly  to  require  no- 
tice, and  -which  occurs  more  than  once  in  this  play ;  in 
even  the  pruited  text  of  which,  the  use  of  the  old  abbre- 
viations, '  y« '  for  'the,'  and  '  y' '  for  'your,'  and  'y'' 
for  '  that,'  is  remarkably  common.  Hence  the  easy  mis- 
take of  '  her,'  the  h  having  a  bow  belo^\■  the  line,  for  '  j-'.' 

p.  166.  " to  the  Porpentine"  :  —  This  orthography  uni- 
formly occurs  in  the  folio  in  this  and  all  the  other  plays 
in  which  the  name  of  the  animal  is  mentioned.  It 
is  not  a  different  way  of  spelling  '  porcupine,'  but  a  dif- 
ferent word,  or  at  least  a  different  fbnn  of  the  word,  and 
therefore  must  not  be  disturbed.  This  decision  is  also 
that  of  Mr.  Dyce,  who  gives  it,  by  quotation  and  ai-gu- 
ment,  a  support  almost  superfluous. 

Scene  II. 

p.  167.      " grow  so  ruinous"  :  —  The  folio  has  "ruinate," 

which  the  rhvTne  shoAvs  to  be  wrong.  The  correction  is 
Malone's.    The  folio  has  also  "buildings"  for  "building." 

"  " make  us  btU  believe  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  not." 

p.  168.      " to  you  I  do  decline  "  :  —  lean  :  used  of  old  m 

the  sense  of  '  incline." 

"  •' as  a  hride  I'll  take  thee  "  :  —  The  folio  reads  "  as 

a  bud"  &c. ;  a  palpable  misprint,  this  correction  of  which 
is  due  to  the  happy  conjecture  of  Mr.  Howard  Stanton. 
It  is  fully  sustained,  and  indeed  required,  by  the  last  line 
of  the  speech. 

"  "  Not  mad,  but  mated  "  :  —  crazed,  bewildered. 

"  "  Gaze  where   you  should  "  :  —  The  folio   misprints, 

"  lohen." 

p.  169.      " for  I  aim  thee  "  :  —  I  seek  thee  :  a  common  use 

of  '  aim  '  in  Shakespeare's  day.  The  folio  has  "  am." 
The  correction  is  by  Steevens.     Howe  read  '  mean.' 

"  " and  besides  myself"  :  —  The  unwarraiitable  cus- 

tom of  the  day  having  made  two  words  of  '  beside  '  and 
'besides,'  which  are  one  and  the  same  in  all  resjDects,  ex- 
cept a  slight  terminal  corruption  in  the  latter,  it  is  proper 
to  point  out  that  Dromio  says  he  is  'beside  himself,'  i.  e., 
'  distracted  ;  '  the  idea  that  he  is  another  man  than  him- 
self being  conveyed  by  way  of  pun.  There  is  no  more 
difference  between  '  beside '  and  '  besides '  than  between  '  a 
little  way  '  and  its  corruption,  '  a  little  ways ; '  and  the 
text  should  be  changed  to  '  beside,'  were  it  not  that  so 
doing  would  seem  to  recognize  a  distinction  which  does  not 


214        COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.    act  hi. 

exist,  and  destroy  one  of  the  best  and  most  accessible 
proofs  that  there  is  but  one  word,  i.  e.,  '  beside ; '  —  the 
s  having  been  indifferently  used  or  omitted  in  the  or- 
thography of  the  day  when  Shakespeare's  plays  were 
written,  and  of  that  when  the  Bible  was  translated.  So, 
"  he  ...  is  horne-niad,  and  talketh  like  a  man  besides 
himself."  Holland's  Translation  of  Licij.  "  Paul,  thou 
art  besides  thyself."  Ads  xxvi.  24,  editions  of  153o,  1599, 
and  1607. 

p.  170.      *' without  he  say  sir  reverence  "  :  —  ^lalone  first 

quoted  Blount's  (ilossography,  1682,  to  show  that  '  sir 
reverence  '  was  a  vulgar  corruption  of  '  sa/va  reverentia  ! ' 
It  was ;  but  that  sense  is  not  to  the  purpose,  except  in 
the  way  of  pun.  Dromio  alludes  to  the  hlthy  condition 
of  the  "beastly  creature,"  and  makes  use  of  the  dirtiest 
possible  comparison:  "for  he  hath  wares  that  are  not 
worth  a  save  reverence  —  nam  mem-s  habet  qua  non 
merdii  vale?it."  Janua  Linguarum.  1640.  Sig.  B  3.  And 
see  Grose's  Vuhjar  Tongue. 

"  »' for  why  r  she  sweats,  a  man  may  go,"  &c.  :  — 

That  is,  «  she  sweats  so  that  a  man  may  go,'  &c.  ilr. 
Dyee  would  remove  the  interrogation  mark  and  take 
"for  why  she  sweats"  to  mean  'because  she  sweats.' 
But  this  is  entirely  umiecessary. 

"  " her  name  and  three  quarters  "  :  —  The  folio  has 

"  is,"  —  a  palpable  misprint. 

p.  171.      " arm'd   and  revolted,   making   war   against    her 

heir  "  :  —  An  allusion  to  the  war  of  the  League  agauist 
Henry  of  Navarre,  who  became  heir  to  the  throne  of 
France  in  1.589.  See  Introduction.  In  the  Variorum 
edition  are  two  pages  of  annotation  ujion  the  last  word 
of  the  passage,  by  Theobald,  Johnson,  and  Malone.  John- 
son contends  that  Dromio  alludes  only  to  a  certain  stage 
of  that  French  disea.se,  (^"  nometique  a  r/c/ite  recepit," ) 
gibes  upon  which  seem  to  have  been  the  standing  joke  of 
the  stage  in  Shakesijeare's  day.  The  folio  has  "  arm'd 
and  reverted ; "  but  although  the  latter  word  has  been 
silently  retained  in  the  text  hitherto,  it  is  plainly  a  mis- 
print, and  the  easiest  possible,  for  '  revcjlted.'  The  for- 
mer ^^■ord  was  very  rarely  used  in  Shakespeare's  day,  and 
then  exclusively  in  its  radical  sense,  '  to  return.'  Min- 
sheu  does  not  even  define  it;  but  merely  refers  to  'return.' 
It  could  not  be  intended  as  a  synonyme  for  '  revolt ; '  and 
any  other  sense  is  inadmissible,  whether  Ave  read  '  heir ' 
or  '  hair.'  Cotgrave,  Florio,  Cooper,  I'hillips,  and  Little- 
ton, as  well  as  Minsheu,  all  completely  sustain  this  emen- 
dation bj-  their  definitions. 


sc.   II.  NOTES.  215 


ACT    FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  173.     " and  her  confederates  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  their." 

p.  1 7-J .      " to  the  utmost  caract "  : —  now  spelled  '  carat : '   a 

weight  of  twelve  grams. 

"  Perchance  I  will  be  there  "  :  —  'I  will,'  instead  of 
'  I  shall,'  is  a  Scotticism,  says  EngUsh  Douce  :  it  is  an 
Irishism,  says  Scotch  Reed:  and  an  ancient  Anglicism, 
says  Irish  Malone. 

p.  175.  " or  send  me  by  some  token  "  :  —  This  is  the  origi- 
nal text,  and  means  '  send  some  word  by  me  which  wUl 
be  a  token  to  your  wife  that  I  come  from  you  :  '  as,  for 
instance,  in  Marston's  Dutch  Courtesan,  Act  III.  Sc.  1. :  — 
"  Mrs.  MuUigrub.  By  what  token  are  you  sent  ?  — by 
no  token  ?     Nay,  I  have  vat. 

"  Cocledeinoy.  He  sent  me  by  the  same  token  that  he 
was  dry  shaved  this  morning." 

Yet  I  cannot  but  think  that  there  has  been  a  transposi- 
tion, and  that  we  should  read,  '  send  by  me  some  token.' 
A  moment  before  Antipholus  had  said  to  Anyelo,  — 
"  —  with  you  take  the  chain,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof." 
It  is  natural  that  the  goldsmith  should  want  the  cham  or 
a  voucher  for  it. 

"  " say  whe'r  you'll  answer  "  :  —  for  '  whether  you'll 


answer. 


p.  176.      "  Enter  Dkomio  of  Syracuse  "  :  —  "from  the  bay,"  adds 
the  first  folio. 


II 


thou  peevish  sheep  "  :  —  thou  silly  sheep. 


"  " to  hire  Avaftage  "  :  —  Here  '  hire '  is  a  dissylla- 

ble :  it  is  spelled  "  hicr  "  in  the  foUo. 

Scene  II. 

177.  "  Of  his,  heart's  meteors  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  Oh." 

"  "  -^ —  he  cleni'd  you  had  in  him  no  right  "  :  —  This  is 

a  pure  Greek  construction.     See  Note  on  "  nor  Nature 
never  lends,"  Measure  for  Measure,  Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

178.  " sweet,  now  make  haste  "  :  —  Mr.  Collier's  folio 

has  "  swift." 

"  " in  an  everlasting  garment "  ;  —  That  is,  as  Dromio 

says  soon  after,  "  all  in  buff,"  the  uniform  of  Serjeants, 
A\  inch  was  very  durable. 


216  COMEDY    OF   ERRORS.  ACT  iv. 

p.  178.  "A  fiend,  a  /atV;/ "  .  —  So  the  original,  which  was 
changed  by  Theobald  and  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632 
to  'fury.'  It  is  not  improbable  that  '  fury  '  was  the  au- 
thor's word  ;  but  in  Shakespeare's  early  days  all  fairies 
were  not  necessarily  supposed  to  be  like  Oberon  and  Tita- 
nia  or  their  attendants  ;  there  were  fairies  jDitiless  and 
rough  ;   and  therefore  the  text  must  stand. 

"  «' niiis  counter  and  yet  (Irenes  dry  foot  "  ;  —  limit- 

ing cant.  To  '  riui  comiter '  is  to  run  the  wrong  way  ;  to 
'  draw  di-y  foot,'  to  hunt  by  the  scent  of  the  foot. 

"  " carries  poor  souls  to  Hell "  :  — '  Hell '  was  a  cant 

word  for  '  prison.' 

"  «< he's  'rested  on  the  case  "  :  —The  '  action  on  the 

case '  was  so  called  because  it  was  brought  upon  the  case 
as  described,  for  a  wrong  done  without  force,  for  the  re- 
dress of  which  there  was  no  particular  form  of  procedure 
provided  by  law.     It  is  now,  i^jso  nomine,  obsolete. 

p.  179.  "  But  is  in  a  suit  of  buff  "  :  —  For  '  Ae  is ' :  —  an  ellip- 
tical mode  of  expression  not  uncommon  of  old.  See  Note 
on  "  namely,  is  no  time,"  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

"  "  That  he,  unknown,"  &c.  :  —  The  folio  has  '♦  Thus," 

which  the  second  folio  corrected. 

/'  " if  any  hour  meet  a  sergeant "  :  —  To  understand 

Droniio's  joke,  it  is  necessary  to  remember  that  'hour' 
and  '  whore  '  were  both  of  old  pronounced  koor,  —  the 
word  originally  having  been  hure,  Anglo-Saxon. 

"  "If  he  be  in  debt"  : — The  folio  has   -'If  /,"  which 

Malone  corrected.  Rowe  read,  'If  Time,'  and  is  followed 
by  Mr.  Dyce,  who  supposes  '  I '  to  be  a  misprint  for  '  T.,' 
used  as  an  abbreviation  for  » Time.' 

Scene  III. 

p.  180.  "  Some  other  give  me  thanks  "  :  —  This  is  not  a  mis- 
print for  '  Some  others.'  The  plural  form  '  others'  is  of 
comparatively  recent  introduction.  The  more  common 
expression  in" Shakespeare's  day  was  'other  some.' 
"  "  What  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd"  :  —  The  old  Adam  new  apparelled  was  the 
Serjeant  in  buff  leather,  whom  Dromio  compares  to  Adam 
in  liis  dress  of  skins,  or,  perhaps,  in  his  own  buff;  and  Mr. 
Collier  says  that  '  what  have  you  got  '  is  still  a  vulgar 
phrase  for  '  what  have  you  done  with.'  The  passage, 
however,  still  seems  awkward,  and  is  perhaps  corrupt. 
Tlieobald  read,  '  What,  have  you  got  rid  of,'  &c. 
//         " gives  them  a  stop  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  sob," 


sc.   IV.  NOTES.  217 

a  manifest  misprint  for  the  word  in  the  text.  In  all 
modern  editions  hitherto,  except  !Mr.  Collier's,  who  re- 
tains '  sob,'  it  has  been  changed  to  '_/b6  '  /  a  word  equally 
devoid  of  any  shade  of  meaning;  here.  For  how  does  an 
ofHcer  give  men  a  fob  /  and  could  givmg  a  man  a.  fob  rest 
or  arrest  him  ?  giving  him  a  stoj)  would  do  both. 

p.  181.      "  a  morris-pike  "  :  —  a  Moorish  pike  ;   an  ancient 

weapon. 

p.  182.      " expect  spoonmeat  and  bespeak  a  long  spoon"  :  — 

The  folio  misprints  "  or  bespeak." 

"  Avoid,  thoii  fiend  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  Avoid  then," 
the  easiest  of  all  misprints  from  the  similarity  of  o  and  e 
in  old  MS.,  and  of  n  and  m  m  all  !MS.  '  Then '  has  no 
relation.  The  correction  was  made  in  ^Ir.  Collier's  folio 
of  1632.  Mr.  Dyce  proposes  'Avoid  thee;'  but  while  e 
and  o  ^^■ere  almost  identical  in  appearance,  e  and  ii  were 
very  unlike.  Just  below  Antipholus  says,  "  Avaunt,  thou 
witch." 

Scene  IV. 

p.  184.      " like  the  parrot,"  &c.  :  —  It  was  the  custom  to 

teach  parrots  to  prophesy  ill  luck.  Warburton  makes  the 
following  apt  quotation  from  Hudibras,  which  refers  to 
Ralpho's  skill  in  augury  :  — 

"  Could  tell  what  subtlest  parrots  mean. 
That  speak  and  think  contrary  clean  ; 
What  member  'tis  of  whom  they  talk. 
When  they  cry  Rope,  and  Walk,  knave,  loalk." 

p.  185.      <' your  customers  "  ;  —  those  to  whose   company 

you  are  accustomed  :  of  old,  a  common  use  of  the  word. 

''  "  Perdy  "  :  —  a  corruption  of  *  par  Dieu.' 

p.  186.      " my  bones  6ear  witness  "  : — The  folio  has  "bears." 

See  Note  on  "Were  carried  towards  Corinth,"  Act  1. 
Sc.  1.  These  disagreements  are  so  conunou  in  the  old 
text  of  this  play  that  further  notice  of  them  is  needless. 

p.  187.  "  Enter  three  or  four,"  &c.  :  — This  is  the  stage  direc- 
tion of  the  folio.  The  attempt  is  successful,  as  we  see  by 
the  text. 

p.  188.  "  Exeunt  Adriana,"  &c.  :  —  The  folio  has,  "  Run  all 
out,"  after  Adriana' s  speech,  and  after  the  Officer's,  "  Ex* 
eunt  omnes,  as  fast  as  may  be,  frighted." 

p.  189.     " fetch  our  stuff"  :  —  luggage,   baggage.      "In 

that  day,  he  which  shall  be  upon  the  house  top,  and  his 
stuff  in   the   house,   let  him  not  come  down  to  take    it 
away."     Luke  xvii.  31. 
n2 


218  COMEDY   OF   ERRORS.  ACT   \. 

ACT    FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  190.      " thou  kiiow'st  did  hear  thee  "  :  —  Capell  read,  to 

complete  the  rhythm,  '  did  hear  thee,  sir  ; '  but  if  a  word 
be  lost,  -which  is  not  imiDrobable,  we  should  rather  read, 
"  These  ears  of  mine,  thou  know'st,  did  hear  th.eQ  swear." 
Editors  (generally  make  the  line  lamely  out  by  reading, 
"  thou  knowes<." 

"  "  Some  get  within  him  "  ;  —  his  guard. 

"  "  [Exeunt .  .  .  to  the  Abbey  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  Priori/." 

p.  191.      " heavy,  sour,  sad"  :  —  Here  and  elsewhere  'sour' 

is  a  dissj'llable.  This  use  of  it  is  a  remnant  of  the  more 
ancient  spelling  and  pronunciation  sower,  that  being  the 
orthography  in  the  original  text. 

"  " the  copi/  of  our  conference  "  :  —  that  which  was 

constantly  before  us,  the  subject  of  our  conference.  Some 
editors  would  have  the  word  to  be  '  co-pie,'  from  the  Latin 
copia,  and  used  as  Cooper  uses  it  in  his  translation  of 
Cicero's  phrase  *'  copiose  et  abundantcr  loqui,"  —  '  to  use 
his  words  with  great  copie  and  abundance  of  eloquence.' 
But  this  is  needlessly  going  very  far  for  very  little. 

"  "I    often    glanced   [at]    it"  —  'At,'    wanting  in    the 

original,  is  supplied  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 

p.  192.  "  And  at  her  heels  "  :  —  Thus  the  folio.  Heath  sug- 
gested and  Malone  read  ''their  heels,"  because  of  the  dis- 
agreement in  gender  between  "her"  and  "kinsman;" 
but  this  is  entirely  inadmissible ;  for  it  is  melancholy 
alone  at  whose  heels  follows  the  infectious  troop.  Ritson 
justly  remarked  that  "  kinsman  means  no  more  than  near 
relation  ;  "  and  Mr.  Yerplanck  clearly  solves  whatevei 
difficulty  there  may  be  in  the  passage,  by  quoting  tlie 
following  lines  from  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  (Act  III. 
So.  2,)  in  which  Portia  calls  herself — 

" the  lord 

Of  this  fair  manor,  master  o'er  my  servants. 

Queen  o'er  myself." 
Heath  reads  "  moody  moping   and   dull,"   &c.  :    Singer, 
"  moody  sadness  and  dull,"  &c. 

p.  193.     " a  formal  man"  :  — a  reasonable  man.     Sec  Note 

on  "  these  poor,  informal  women,"  Measure  for  Measure, 
Act  V.  Sc.  1. 
''  "  The  place  of  death  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  depth,"  which 

Rowe  corrected.     Mr.  Hunter  would  retain  the  original 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  219 

word  as  meaning  "  the  Barathrum,  or  deep  pit  into  -vvhich 
offenders  were  cast  "  f 

p.  194:.  "  Who  I  made  lord  of  me"  :  —  Thus  the  original,  in 
opposition,  as  Shakespeaie  and  his  contemporaries  con- 
stantly were,  to  modern  usage. 

"  " your   important   letters": — for   'importunate 

letters.'     The  word  is  so  used  elsewhere  in  these  plays. 

p.  19.5.  " nicks  him  like  a  fool "  :  —  Malone  quotes  the  fol- 
lowing illustrative  passage  from  Gent's  Choice  of  Chanrie, 
1598.  "  Three  things  used  by  monks  which  provoke  oth- 
er men  to  laugh  at  their  follies  :  They  are  shaven  and 
notched  on  the  head,  like  fooles,"  &c. 

p.  196.  "  While  she  with  harlots  feasted  "  :  —  '  Harlot '  at  first 
meant  only  a  person  hired.  Thus  Chaucer  uses  it  in  the 
Sompnoures  Tale,  7336  :  — 

"  A  stourdy  harlot  ay  went  hem  byhjmde 
That  was  hir  hostLs  man,"  &c. 
But,  like  '  villain,'  which  originally  meant  '  a  bondsman,' 
it  came  to  be  used  as  a  term  of  reproach,  and,  at  first,  to 
men  as  well  as  women.  Its  peculiar  reproach,  when  ap- 
plied to  women,  is  strictly  derived  from  the  venality  which 
its  radical  sense  implies.  Every  wanton  is  not  necessari- 
ly a  harlot  in  the  original  signification  of  the  word.  See 
Note  on  '  villain,'  Act  I.  Sc.  2,  and  on  '  knave,'  Othello, 
Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

p.  198.  "  And  this  is  false,"  &c. :  —  Mr.  Dyce  would  read, 
quite  needlessly, 

"  I  never  saw  the  chain.     So  help  me  Heaven, 
As  this  is  false,"  &c. 

p.  201.  "  If  I  dream  not."  &c.  :  —  In  the  original  this  speech, 
and  the  next  by  the  Abbess,  are  preceded  by  the  first  six 
lines  of  the  Duke's  next  speech  :  an  error  strangely  left 
to  be  corrected  by  Capell. 

"  "  These  are  the  parents,"  &c.  :  —  Malone  supposed  that 

the  preceding  line  had  been  lost.  But  JEgeon's  morning 
stor\'  and  the  consequent  conviction  flash  on  the  Duke's 
mind  at  once. 

"  " to  these  children  "  ;  —  '  Children  '  is  here  in  ef- 

fect a  trisyllable.  The  plural  form  was  of  old,  and  still 
is  in  some  places  and  among  certain  classes,  '  childer : '  — 
who  has  not  heard  it  in  the  mouths  of  Irish  emigrants  ? 
See,  also,  in  an  account  dated  1564,  published  in  Hal- 
liwell's  Life  of  Shakespeare,  p.  47.  —  "Item,  payd  to 
Alen  for  techyng  the  chylder,  iiij  li."  To  this  succeed- 
ed '  cl  ilderen,'  en  being  the  fine  old  Saxon  plural  form 
which  we  are  continually  hissing  ourselves  for  having  laid 


220  COMEDY    OF    ERRORS.  act  V. 

aside,  except  in  a  few  honest,  homely  words  like  '  oxen,' 
•brethren,'  &.c.  The  trisyllabic  use  of  the  word  is  a  relic 
of  this  old  plural. 

p.  202.      " these  errors  all  arose  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "we 

arose ;  "  but  can  there  be  a  doubt  that  the  reading  of  the 
text,  which,  being  of  the  obvious  kind,  occurred  to  sev- 
eral editors  and  was  found  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632, 
is  correct  ? 

''  "  Twenty-five  years,"  &c.  :  —  The  original  has  "  Thirty- 

three,"  which,  as  JEgeon  says  that  he  had  parted  from 
his  boy  seven  years  before,  when  the  latter  was  eighteen, 
must  be  wrong. 

"  "My  heavy  burthen  here  dehvered  "  :  —  That  is,   'I 

have  gone  in  travail  until  this  present  hour  delivered  me 
here  of  my  hea\'j'  burthen.'  The  folio  has  "  are  deliv- 
ered," with  maiufest  error.  Theobald  and  Mr.  Knight 
read, 

"  nor  till  this  present  hour 
My  heavy  burthens  are  delivered:  " 
Mr.  Collier, 

"  My  heavy  burden  wwdehvered  :  " 
Mr.  Smger  and  Mr.  Dyce, 

"My  heavy  burden  ne'er  delivered  :  " 
a  wTiter  in  Blackwood' s  Magazine,  August,  1853, 

"  My  heavy'  burden  has  delivered  :  " 
but  the  reading  of  the  text  does  less  violence  to  the  origi- 
nal than  either  of  these,  and  gives  what  appears  to  me  a 
better,  more  natural  expression  of  Emilia's  idea. 

p.  203.  "  find,  joy  with  me  : 

After  so  long  grief  such  nativity." 
The  origmal  has  "  and  yo  -vxith  me,"  Avhich  Heath  happi- 
ly corrected  by  the  substitution  of  the  word  in  the  text. 
Mr.  Singer  reads  "such  festivity,"  which  is  a  plausible 
suggestion  on  account  of  the  occurrence  of  '  nativity '  just 
before.  But  a  long  travail  and  a  hapjiy  birth  is  plainly 
the  dominant  thought  of  Emilia's  speech,  and  "  a  gossip's 
feast "  was  a  feast  of  those  who  assisted  at  a  birth  or  came 
in  immediately  after  it. 

"  "  [Exeunt  Ant.  S.  and  E.,"  &c.  :  —  The  old  stage  di- 

rection is  "  Exeunt  omnes.  Mane[n]t  the  two  Dromios  and 
two  brothers."  But  from  the  last  speech  of  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse,  it  is  plain  that  he  and  his  brother  go  out  with 
the  other  gentlefolk,  and  that  the  two  bondsmen  remain 
behind. 


MUCH   ADO    ABOUT    NOTHING. 


(221) 


"  Much  adoe  about  Nothing.  As  it  hath  been  simdrie  times  pub- 
Ukely  acted  by  the  right  honourable,  the  Lord  Chamberiaine  his 
seruants.  Written  by  William  Shakes2)earc.  —  London  Printed 
by  V.  S.  for  Andrew  Wise,  and  William  Aspley.  1600."  4to. 
36  leaves. 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing  occupies  tAventy-one  pages  m  the 
folio  of  1623,  viz.,  from  p.  101  to  p.  121  inclusive,  in  the  di- 
vision of  Comedies.  It  is  there  divided  into  Acts,  but  not  into 
Scenes,  and  is  without  a  list  of  Dramatis  Personse.  In  the 
quarto  there  is  no  division  into  Acts. 


(222) 


MUCH    ADO    ABOUT    NOTHING 


INTRODUCTION, 


BANDELLO,  an  Italian  novelist  who  died  three  years  before 
Shakespeare  was  born,  furnished  him  with  the  incident 
upon  which  this  play  hinges  —  the  trick  by  which  Borachio 
slanders  Hero  to  her  lover.  It  is  found  also  in  Ariosto's  Orlando 
Furioso,  Book  V.,  and  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  Book  II. 
Can.  4,  an  English  translation  of  the  former  of  which,  by  Sir 
John  Ilarington,  was  published  in  1591.  No  translation  of  Ban- 
dello's  novel  is  known  ;  but  if  any  reader  of  Shakespeare  finds 
it  difficult  to  believe  that  such  a  man,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five 
years,  —  fifteen  of  which  he  had  passed  in  literary  pursuits,  at  a 
time  when  Italian  was  more  ccnimonly  known  to  educated  Eng- 
lishmen than  French  is  now,  — had  mastered  enough  of  that 
language  to  be  able  to  read  a  short  tale  in  it,  I  must  confess  my- 
self but  ill  disposed  to  help  him  out  of  the  further  perplexity  in 
which  he  will  be  involved  by  the  knowledge,  that,  while  in 
neither  Ariosto's  nor  Spenser's  version  of  the  storj^  is  there  the 
slightest  coincidence  with  Much  Ado  about  Nothing  in  name  of 
person  or  place,  in  Bandello's,  the  friend  and  patron  of  the  lover 
is  Don  Pedro  of  Arragon,  the  father  of  the  lady,  Lionato,  and  the 
scene,  ^lessiiia,  and  that  iia  Bandello  alone  are  found  the  inci- 
dents of  the  entrance  of  the  repudiated  lady's  window  by  a 
servant  of  her  calumniator,  her  swooning  and  j^retended  death, 
the  promise  to  her  father  to  marry  at  his  bidding,  and  her  sub- 
sequent restoration  to  her  repentant  lover.  The  Italian's  con- 
tribution to  the  play  is  limited  to  these  few  bare  names  and 
almost  barren  incidents  ;  for  Benedick  and  Beatrice,  Dogberry 
and  Verges,  John  the  Bastard,  and  even  Conrade,  Borachio  and 
Margaret,  and  all  that  they  do  and  say  else,  are  Shakespeare's 
own.     Not  only  so,  but  the  four  first-named  characters,  being 

(223) 


224         MUCH    ADO    ABOUT   NOTHING. 

purely  English,  and  gi\ing  the  tone  to  the  composition,  make 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing  a  comedy  of  contemporary  English 
manners. 

We  are  able  to  determine  the  date  of  the  production  of  this 
play  with  accuracy  quite  sufficient  to  all  the  purposes  for  which 
exactness  in  such  matters  is  valuable.  It  was  published  in  1630 ; 
FMfjlund's  Parnassus,  which  appeared  also  m  that  year,  con- 
tains no  quotation  from  it ;  and  Mercs,  who  could  not  have 
passed  it  unnoticed,  when  he  did  notice  The  Comedy  of  Errors 
and  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  does  not  mention  it  in  his 
citation,  so  often  referred  to,  which  was  published  in  1598. 
We  may  therefore  conclude  that  Much  Ado  about  Nothing  was 
written  in  1598  or  1599.  There  is  no  internal  evidence  upon 
this  point ;  for  Chalmers'  conjecture,  that  when  Beatrice  says, 
"  you  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp  to  eat  it,"  an  allu- 
sion is  meant  to  an  infirmity  in  the  English  commissariat  of 
that  day,  which,  from  recent  Crimean  experience,  seems  chronic, 
rests  on  a  foundation  entirely  too  slender  and  fanciful. 

The  text  of  the  folio  is  printed  with  comparatively  few  and 
trifling  errors,  most  of  which  are  easy  of  correction,  either  by  con- 
jecture or  by  the  aid  of  the  quarto,  which  is  also  remarkably 
well  printed  for  a  dramatic  publication  of  the  period.  Each 
copy  contains  a  few  words  and  brief  sentences  omitted  from  the 
other.  It  is  plain  from  the  repetition  of  certain  somewhat 
striking  eri'ors  of  the  press,  which  are  particularly  indicated  in 
the  Notes,  that  the  folio  was  printed  from  a  copy  of  the  quarto 
edition ;  and  this  fact  has  caused  most  editors  to  adhere  to  the 
text  of  the  latter,  as  "  the  more  ancient  authority,"  Mr.  Collier 
giving,  as  an  additional  reason,  his  opinion  that  "  the  changes 
from  the  4to  in  the  folio  are  nearly  all  for  the  worse."  As  to 
its  being  the  earlier  prmted  edition,  this  fact  has,  e\'idently,  no 
w-eight  in  deciding  between  the  authority  of  an  edition  which 
is  authenticated  and  that  of  one  which  is  not ;  and  not  only  is  this 
truth  applicable  in  the  present  instance,  but  we  know  that  the 
copy  of  the  quarto  from  which  the  authenticated  folio  was  print- 
ed had  been  used  in  Shakespeare's  theatre  as  the  prompter's  book, 
and  there  subjected  to  several  alterations  and  corrections ;  and 
thus  its  essential  differences  from  the  quarto  have  a  special  and 
peculiar  demand  upon  our  deference.  The  important  errors  (to 
a  reader)  of  the  quarto  which  the  folio  leaves  uncorrected  are  of 
such  a  nature  that   thev  might   remain  without  inconvenience 


INTRODUCTION.  225 

upon  a  prompter's  book  ;  —  such  are  the  printing  of  verse  as 
prose  and  the  use  of  the  names  of  actors,  instead  of  those  of 
characters,  as  prefixes.  The  various  differences  of  text  bear- 
ing upon  this  point  are  all  considered  in  the  Notes. 

As  to  preference  between  the  readings  of  the  two  editions, 
that  is  mere  matter  of  opinion  ;  and  fortmiately  the  cases  in 
which  such  preference  may  be  exercised  —  not  by  any  means 
admitting  that  it  should  be  —  are  of  comparatively  httle  mo- 
ment. But  I  am  sui-prised  that  any  reader  of  Shakespeare 
should  consider,  for  instance,  the  change  of  "  any  man  that 
knows  the  statutes,"  in  the  quarto,  to  "  any  man  that  knows  the 
statues,"  in  the  folio,  for  the  worse,  or  think  the  same  of  the 
change  from  "  beat  "  in  the  quarto  to   "  bear,"  in  the  lines, 

" a  thousand  innocent  shames 


In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes," 

in  the  folio  :  —  the  difi'erence  between  a  vision  of  angelic  white- 
•n-ingcd  innocence  bearing  away,  all  shameful,  the  blushes  of  the 
shruoking  girl,  and  a  -s-ision  of  the  same  impersonated  virtue 
violently  beating  them  off,  being  one  about  the  propriety  or  the 
beauty  of  which  there  would  seem  to  be  no  room  for  discussion. 
The  significant  change  in  Dogberry's  speech.  Act  III.  Sc.  o,  from 
"  examJHai/oM,"  in  the  quarto,  to  "  exam//ic,"  in  the  folio,  is 
remarked  upon  at  length  hx  the  Notes  :  its  character  admits  no 
doubt  that  it  was  made  '  by  authority.' 

The  readings  of  the  foUo,  in  all  important  variations,  seem 
to  me  much  preferable  to  those  of  the  quarto ;  but  the  former 
is  followed  in  this  edition,  -with  assistance  fi-om  the  latter  in 
cases  of  apparent  misprint  only,  not  for  that  reason,  but  because 
the  folio  was  printed,  —  and  carefully  printed  for  the  day,  even  as 
to  punctuation,  contracted  syllables,  and  capital  letters,  — from  a 
copy  which  had  evidently  had  the  benefit  of  at  least  a  partial 
correction,  and  because  it  has  the  authority  of  Heminge  and 
Condell,  Shakespeare's  feUow-actors. 

As  to  the  period  of  the  action  and  the  costume  of  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing,  the  former  is  not  determinable  within  narrow- 
bounds  ;  and  it  is  of  no  consequence  that  it  should  be  ;  for  the 
list  of  dramatis  persona  is  of  the  composite  sort,  and  the  exte- 
riors which  the  characters  present  must  of  necessity  be  those  of 
diff'erent  times  and  nations.  A  Sicilian  costume  of  any  period 
anterior  to  the  Avriting  of  the  comedy,  and  durmg  which  the 
island  was  under  the  dominion  of  Spain  and  involved  in  wai", 

VOL.   HI.  O 


226         MUCH    ADO    ABOUT   NOTHING. 

is  appropriate  to  the  personages  of  higher  rank  ;  and  we  must 
look  to  the  England  of  Shakespeare's  day  to  furnish  dresses  for 
Dogberry  the  Constable,  Verges  the  Headborough,  the  Sexton, 
and  the  Watch.  Vecelli  is  authority  for  the  former,  and  a  wood- 
cut on  the  title  page  of  Dekker's  O  per  se  O,  1612,  for  the  Watch 
among  the  latter. 

We  call  this  play  Micch  Ado  about  Nothing;  but  it  seems  clear 
to  me  that  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries  called  it  Much 
Ado  abotd  Noting;  a  pun  being  intended  between  'nothing' 
and  '  noting,'  which  were  then  pronounced  alike,  and  upon 
which  pun  depends  by  far  the  more  important  significance  of  the 
title.  This  is  not  the  place  for  minute  orthoepical  discussion; 
but  that  accented  vowels  had  their  pure  and  simple  sound  in  a  very 
much  greater  degree  in  Shakespeare's  time  than  now,  and  that 
this  was  preserved  in  compound  words,  no  sufficiently  obsei-vant 
person,  familiar  with  the  literature  of  that  time,  can  have  failed 
to  notice.  Upon  this  fact  depends,  for  instance,  the  Host's  joke 
in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  III.  Sc.  1,  "he  gives  me  the 
proverbs  and  the  no- verbs  ;  "  —  and  I  remark  here  that  the  pro- 
nmiciatioii  '^j/-o-verb'  still  lingers  in  New  England.  Shake- 
speare's contemporary  John  Florio  tells  us,  in  his  Rules  for  the 
Italian  Tongue  appended  to  his  Dictionary,  that  the  "  round  or 
fiiTu  "  Italian  o  "  is  ever  pronounced  as  our  o  in  these  wordes  : 
Bone,  Dog,  Flow,  God,  Rod,  Stone,  Tone ;  "  by  which  we  see 
that  three  words  of  the  seven  have  lost  the  pure  sound  of  o. 
This  is  rather  less  than  the  proportion  of  those  which  have  un- 
dergone a  similar  change  throughout  the  language.  But  a 
joke  of  Touchstone' s  is  quite  decisive  upon  the  point  that  the 
combination  o  t  h  was  sometimes,  at  least,  pronounced  ote. 
He  says,  {As  You  Like  It,  Act  III.  Sc.  3,)  <'  I  am  here  with  thee 
and  thy  goats,  as  the  most  capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was 
among  the  Goths  ;  "  and  if  the  pronunciation  of  '  Goths  '  was 
not  '  gotes,'  he  might  as  well  have  said  'among  the  Vandals.' 
To  this  add  another  example,  even  more  conclusive  —  the  spell- 
ing, in  the  original,  of  '  mote '  in  the  following  line,  (Loi'e's  La- 
bours  Lost,  Act  IV.  Sc.  3,)  and  in  every  other  instance  in  which 
the  word  is  used  in  that  volume,  although  it  was  pronounced 
mote,  and  had  been  so  spelled  in  earlier  days  :  — 

"  You  found  his  Moth,  the  King  your  Moth  did  see." 

In  this  very  play,  too,  is  another  passage  especially  in  point,  — 
that  in  which  (Act  II.  Sc.  3)  Balthazar  uses  the  words  '  note,' 


INTRODUCTION.  227 

•  notes,'  and  '  noting,'  and  Do7i  Pedro  replies,  "  Note,  notes,  for- 
^^^  sooth,  and  nothing."  Here,  if  'nothing'  were  pronounced  noth- 
ing, the  Prince  might  as  well  have  said  '  any  thing ; '  but  both 
quarto  and  folio  give  him  his  pun  as  well  as  his  jeer.  Theobald, 
failing  to  perceive  this,  changed  'nothing'  to  'noting;  '  and  so 
the  passage  remained  until  the  present  day.  In  the  great  Ro- 
man tragedy,  too,  of  the  Triumvir  and  the  Egyptian  Queen,  the 
original  has  either  Anthonie,  Anthony,  or  even  AnX^ionius,  al- 
though the  man  was  called  then,  as  now,  Mark  Antony.  So 
Antonio  of  The  Tempest  is  Ant\vonio  in  the  original,  and  Armach 
in  Love's  Labour's  Lost  is  generally  Armatho ;  and  a  common  word 
which  occurs  in  this  play,  '  lantern,'  (so  written  originally  and 
always  so  pronounced,)  was  in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  until  re- 
cently, spelled  lanihorn;  and  the  last  syllable  of  'murder,'  then 
written  murther,  seems  to  have  been  pronounced  somewhat  like 
the  same  syllable  of  the  French  meurtre. 

But  as  to  the  significance  of  the  title.  The  play  is  3Iuch 
Ado  about  Nothing  only  in  a  very  vague  and  general  sense,  but 
Much  Ado  about  Noting  in  one  especially  apt  and  descriptive  ;  foi 
the  much  ado  is  produced  entirely  by  noting.  It  begins  with 
the  noting  of  the  Prince  and  Claudia,  first  by  Antonio's  man,  and 
then  by  Borachio,  who  reveals  their  conference  to  John ;  it 
goes  on  with  Benedick  noting  the  Prince,  Leonato,  and  Claudio 
in  the  garden,  and  again  with  Beatrice  noting  Margaret  and 
Ursula  in.  the  same  place ;  the  incident  upon  which  its  action 
turns  is  the  noting  of  Borachio' s  interview  Avith  Margaret  by 
the  Prince  and  Claudio ;  and  finally,  the  incident  Avhich  unravels 
the  plot  is  the  noting  of  Borachio  and  Conrade  by  the  Watch. 
That  this  sense,  '  to  observe,'  '  to  watch,'  was,  one  in  wliich 
'  note '  was  commonly  used,  it  is  quite  needless  to  show  by  ref- 
erence to  the  literature  and  the  lexicographers  of  Shakespeare's 
day  ;  it  is  hardly  obsolete ;  and  even  of  the  many  instances  in 
Shakespeare's  works,  I  will  quote  only  one,  from  As  You  Like  It, 
Act  III.  Sc.  2,  which  happens  to  be  in  all  points  corrrespondent. 
"  Enter  Oklando  and  Jaques.]  Celia.  You  bring  me  out :  — 
Soft !  comes  "he  not  here  ?  Ros.  'Tis  he !  Slink  by  and  note 
liim."  Upon  the  other  point  let  these  lines  of  Shakespeare's 
speak :  — 

"  Till  Nature,  as  she  -wrought  thee,  fell  a-doting. 
And  by  addition  me  of  thee  defeated. 
By  adding  one  thing  to  my  purpose  nothing." 

Sonnet  XX. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

Dox  Pedro,  Prince  of  Arragon. 
John,  his  bastard  Brother. 
Clatjdio,  a  young  Lord  of  Florence. 
Benedick,  a  young  Lord  of  Padua. 
Leoxato,  Governor  of  Messina. 
Antonio,  his  Brother. 
Balthazar,  Servant  to  Don  Pedi-o. 

BORACHIO,   )      „  „  ^   T   u 

„  >   followers  of  John. 

CONRADE,     J    -^  ■' 

Dogberry,")     ,       ^jr. 

' ',   two  Officers. 

Verges,      j 
Friar  Francis. 
A  Sexton. 
A  Boy. 

Hero,  Daughter  to  Leonato. 

Beatrice,  Niece  to  Leonato. 

Margaret,)  ,, 

..-  V  Gentlewomen  attending  on  Hero. 

Ursula,      j 

Messengers,  Watchmen,  and  Attendants. 

SCENE  :   Messina. 

(228) 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Heko,  Beatrice,  and  others,  with 
a  Messenger. 

Leoxato. 

I  LEARN  in  this  letter,  that  Don  Pedro  of  Arra- 
gon  conaes  this  night  to   Messina. 

Messenger.  He  is  very  near  by  this  :  he  was  not 
three  leagues  off  when  I  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  this 
action  ? 

Mess.     But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leo7i.  A  victory  is  twice  itself,  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full  numbers.  I  find  here,  that  Don 
Pedro  hath  bestowed  much  honour  on  a  young  Flor- 
entine, called  Claudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserv'd  on  his  part,  and  equally 
remembered  by  Don  Pedro  :  he  hath  borne  himself 
beyond  the  promise  of  his  age,  doing  in  the  figure 
of  a  lamb  the  feats  of  a  lion  :    he  hath,  indeed,  bct- 

229) 


230  MUCH   ADO  act  i. 

ter    better'd    expectation    than    you    must    expect    of 
me  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be 
very  much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and 
there  appears  much  joy  in  him  ;  even  so  much,  that 
joy  could  not  show  itself  modest  enough  without  a 
badge  of  bitterness. 

Leon.     Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess.     In  great  measure. 

Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness.  There  are 
no  faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  wash'd  :  how 
much  better  is  it  to  weep  at  joy  than  to  joy  at 
weeping  ? 

Beatrice.  I  pray  you,  is  Signior  Montanto  re- 
turn'd  from  the  wars,  or  no  ? 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady  :  there  was 
none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.     What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece  ? 

Hero.     My  cousin  means  Signior  Benedick  of  Padua. 

Mess.  O  !  he's  return' d,  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he 
was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and 
challeng'd  Cupid  at  the  flight ;  and  my  uncle's  Fool, 
reading  the  challenge,  subscrib'd  for  Cupid,  and  chal- 
leng'd him  at  the  bird-bolt.  —  I  pray  you,  how  many 
hath  he  kill'd  and  eaten  in  these  wars  ?  But  how 
many  hath  he  kill'd  ?  for,  indeed,  I  promis'd  to  eat 
all  of  his  killing. 

Leon.  'Faith,  niece,  you  tax  Signior  Benedick 
too  much  ;  but  he'll  be  meet  with  you,  I  doubt  it 
not. 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good,  service,  lady,  in  these 
wars. 

Beat.     You   had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  231 

to  eat  it  :  he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man  ;  he  hath 
an  excellent  stomach. 

Mess.     And  a  good   soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady  ;  but  what 
is  he  to  a  lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man;  stufi'"d 
Avith  all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed  :  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuff'd 
man  ;   but  for  the  stuffing,  —  Well,  we  are  all  mortal. 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece.  There 
is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signior  Benedick  and 
her :  they  never  meet,  but  there's  a  skirmish  of  wit 
between  them. 

Beat.  Alas  !  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last 
conflict  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and 
now  is  the  whole  man  governed  with  one  ;  so  that  if 
he  have  wit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him 
bear  it  for  a  difference  between  himself  and  his  horse  ; 
for  it  is  all  the  wealth  that  he  hath  left,  to  be  known 
a  reasonable  creature.  —  Who  is  his  companion  noAV  ? 
He  hath  every  month  a  new  sworn  brother. 

Mess.     Is't  possible  ? 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible  :  he  wears  his  faith  but 
as  the  fashion  of  his  hat ;  it  ever  changes  with  the 
next  block. 

Mess.  I  see,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your 
books. 

Beat.  No  ;  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study. 
But,  I  pray  you,  W'ho  is  his  companion  ?  Is  there 
no  young  squarer  now,  that  wall  make  a  voyage  with 
him  to  the  Devil  ? 

Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right 
noble  Claudio. 

Beat.  O  Lord !  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a  dis- 
ease :    he  is    sooner  caught  than    the  pestilence,  and 


232  MUCH    ADO  act   i. 

the  taker  runs  presently  mad.  God  help  the  noble 
Claudio  !  if  he  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it  will  cost 
him  a  thousand  pound  ere  he  be  cur'd. 

Mess.     I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.     Do,  good  friend. 

Leon.     You'll  ne'er  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.     No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Mess.     Don  Pedro  is  approach' d. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  John  the  Bastard,  Claxjdio,  Ben- 
edick, Balthazar,  and  others. 

Don  Pedro.  Good  Signior  Leonato,  you  arc  come 
to  meet  your  trouble  :  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to 
avoid  cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the 
likeness  of  your  Grace  ;  for  trouble  being  gone,  com- 
fort should  remain  ;  but  when  you  depart  from  me, 
sorrow  abides,  and  happiness  takes  his  leave.  "JS 

D.  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  too  willingly. 
I  think  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon.     Her  mother   hath   many  times  told  me  so. 

Benedick.     Were  you  in  doubt,  (hat  you  ask'd  her  ? 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ;  for  then  were  you  a 
child. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full,  Benedick  ;  we  may 
guess  by  this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.  —  Truly, 
the  lady  fathers  herself.  —  Be  happy,  lady,  for  you 
are  like  an  honourable  father. 

Bene.  If  Signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would 
not  have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all  Messina, 
as  like  him  as  she  is. 

Beat.  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking, 
Signior  Benedick  :    no  body  marks  you. 

Bene.  What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain  !  are  you  yet 
living  ? 


sc.   I.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  233 

Beat.  Is  it  possible  disdain  should  die,  while  she 
hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Siguier  Benedick  ? 
Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  if  you  come 
in  her  presence. 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turn-coat.  But  it  is  cer- 
tain I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted ;  and 
I  would  I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  a 
hard  heart,  for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women :  they  would 
else  have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I 
thank  God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your  humour 
for  that  :  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow 
than  a  man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind ; 
so  some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predestinate 
scratch" d  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an 
'twere  such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.     Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast 
of  yours. 

Beyie.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue,  and  so  good  a  continuer.  But  keep  your  way 
o"  God's  name  ;    I  have   done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  ;  I  know 
you  of  old. 

D.  Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all.  —  Leonato, — 
Signior  Claudio,  and  Signior  Benedick  —  my  dear 
friend  Leonato  hath  invited  you  all.  I  tell  him  we 
shall  stay  .here  at  the  least  a  month,  and  he  hearti- 
ly prays  some  occasion  may  detain  us  longer  :  I 
dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite,  but  prays  from  his 
heart. 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be 
forsworn.  —  Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord :  be- 


234  MUCH  ADO  act  I. 

ing  reconciled  to  the  Prince,  your  brother,  I  owe  you 
all  duty. 

John.  I  thank  you  :  I  am  not  of  many  words,  but 
I  thank  you. 

Leon.     Please  it  your  Grace  lead  on  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato  :  we  will  go  to- 
gether. \^Exeunt  all  but  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claudio.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter 
of  Signior  Leonato  ? 

Bene.     I  noted  her  not  ;    but  I  look'd  on  her. 

Claud.     Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady  ? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man 
should  do,  for  my  simple  true  judgment ;  or  would 
you  have  me  speak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a  pro- 
fessed tyrant  to  their  sex  ? 

Claud.     No  ;   I  pray  thee  speak  in  sober  judgment. 

Bene.  Why,  i'faith,  methinks  she's  too  low  for  a 
high  praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  lit- 
tle for  a  great  praise  :  only  this  commendation  I  can 
afford  her  ;  that  were  she  other  than  she  is,  she  were 
unhandsome  ;  and  being  no  other  but  as  she  is,  I  do 
not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  think' st  I  am  in  sport :  I  pray  thee, 
tell  me  truly  how  thou  lik'st  her. 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after 
her  ? 

Claud.     Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel? 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.  But  speak 
you  this  with  a  sad  brow  ?  or  do  you  play  the  flout- 
ing Jack,  to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-finder,  and 
Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter  ?  Come,  in  what  key  shall 
a  man  take  you,  to  go  in  the  song  ? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that 
ever  I  look'd  on. 

Bene.     I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see 


sc.  I.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  235 

no  such  matter :  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not 
possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in  beauty 
as  the  first  of  May  doth  the  last  of  December.  But 
I  hope  you  have  no  intent  to  turn  husband,  have 
you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had 
sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is't  come  to  this,  i'  faith?  Hath  not  the 
world  one  man,  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  sus- 
picion ?  Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  threescore 
again  ?  Go  to,  i'  faith  ;  an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy 
neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it,  and  sigh  away 
Sundays.     Look  ;  Don  Pedro  is  returned  to  seek  you. 

Enter  Don  Pedro. 

B.  Pedro.  What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that 
you  followed  not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Bene.  I  would  your  Grace  would  constrain  me  to 
tell. 

I).  Pedro.     I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear.  Count  Claudio  :  I  can  be  secret 
as  a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  you  think  so ;  but  on 
my  allegiance,  —  mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance.  — 
He  is  in  love.  With  who  ?  —  now  that  is  your 
Grace's  part.  —  Mark,  how  short  his  answer  is  :  — 
with  Hero,  Leonato's  short  daughter. 

Claud.     If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  utter'd. 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord :  "  It  is  not  so, 
nor  'twas  not  so  :  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should 
be  so."      • 

Claud.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God 
forbid  it  should  be  otherwise. 

D.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  lady 
is  very  well  worthy. 

Claud.     You  speak  this  to  fetch   me   in,  my  lord. 


236  MUCH   ADO  act  i. 

D.  Pedro.      By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.     And  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my  lord, 
I  speak  mine. 

Claud.     That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

D.  Pedro.     That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be  loved, 
nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the  opinion 
that  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me  :  I  will  die  in  it  at 
the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in 
the  despite  of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but  in 
the  force  of  his  will. 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her ; 
that  she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most  hum- 
ble thanks  ;  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat  winded  in 
my  forehead,  or  hang  my  bugle  in  an  invisible  bald- 
rick,  all  women  shall  pardon  me.  Because  I  will  not 
do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust  any,  I  will  do  my- 
self the  right  to  trust  none  ;  and  the  fine  is,  (for  the 
which  I  may  go  the  finer,)  I  will  live  a  bachelor, 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale 
with  love. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger, 
my  lord  ;  not  with  love  :  prove  that  ever  I  lose  more 
blood  with  love  than  I  will  get  again  with  drinking, 
pick  out  mine  eyes  with  a  ballad-maker's  pen  and 
hang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a  brothel-house  for  the 
sign  of  blind   Cupid. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this 
faith,  thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle,  like  a  cat,  and 
shoot  at  me  ;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapp'd 
on  the  shoulder  and  calTd  Adam. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  237 

D.  Pedro.     Well,  as  time  shall  try  : 
"  In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke." 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may,  but  if  ever  the  sensi- 
ble Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns  and 
set  them  in  my  forehead  ;  and  let  me  be  vilely  paint- 
ed, and  in  such  great  letters  as  they  write,  '  Here  is 
good  horse  to  hire,'  let  them  signify  under  my  sign, 
'  Here  you  may  see  Benedick  the  married  man.' 

CJaud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  would'st 
be  horn-mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his 
quiver  in  Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Beiie.     I  look  for  an  earthquake  too,  then. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the  hours. 
In  the  mean  time,  good  Signior  Benedick,  repair  to 
Leonato's  :  commend  me  to  him,  and  tell  him  I  will 
not  fail  him  at  supper  ;  for,  indeed,  he  hath  made 
great  preparation. 

Bene.  1  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such 
an  embassage  ;    and  so  I  commit  you  — 

Claud.  To  the  tuition  of  God  :  from  my  house  (if 
I  had  it)  — 

D.  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July  :  your  loving  friend. 
Benedick. 

Bene.  Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not.  The  body  of 
your  discourse  is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments, 
and  the  guards  are  but  slightly  basted  on,  neither  : 
ere  you  flout  old  ends  any  farther,  examine  your  con- 
science ;    and  so  I  leave  you.  \_Exit  Benedick. 

Claud.  .My  liege,  your  Highness  now  may  do  me 
good. 

D.  Pedro.     My  love   is    thine    to   teach :    teach   it 
but  how. 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 


238  MUCH  ADO  act  i. 

Claud.     Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  ? 

D.  Pedro.    No  child  but  Hero  ;   she's  his  only  heir. 
Dost  thou  affect  her,   Claudio  ? 

Claud.  O  !  my  lord, 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye. 
That  lik'd,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  ; 
But  now  I  am  return' d,  and  that  war- thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thron";ino;  soft  and  delicate  desires. 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Saying,  I  lik'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars  — 

D.  Pedro.     Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently, 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words. 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it, 
And  I  will  break  with  her,   [and  with  her  father. 
And  thou  shalt  have  her.]     Was't  not  to  this  end, 
That  thou  began' st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

Claud.     How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.     What  need  the   bridge   much   broader 
than  the  flood  ? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity. 
Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit :   'tis  once,  thou  lovest ; 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night : 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise, 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio  ; 
And  in  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart. 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale  : 
Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 


sc.   II.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  239 

And,   the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine. 

In  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.  \_Exeu7it. 


Scene  II. 
A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato  a?id  Antonio. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  ?  Where  is  my  cousin, 
your  son  ?     Hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 

Antonio.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother, 
I  can  tell  you  news  that  you  yet  dreamt  not  of. 

Leon.     Are  they  good  ? 

Ant.  As  the  event  stamps  them  ;  but  they  have 
a  good  cover  ;  they  show  well  outward.  The  Prince 
and  Count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick-pleached  alley 
in  my  orchard,  were  thus  overheard  by  a  man  of 
mine  :  the  Prince  discovered  to  Claudio  that  he  loved 
my  niece,  your  daughter,  and  meant  to  acknowledge 
it  this  night  in  a  dance  ;  and,  if  he  found  her  ac- 
cordant, he  meant  to  take  the  present  time  by  the 
top,  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 

Leon.     Hath  the  fellow  any  wit,  that  told  you  this  ? 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow  :  I  will  send  for  him, 
and  question  him  yourself. 

Leon.  No,  no  :  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream,  till 
it  appear  itself;  but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
withal,  that  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an 
answer,  if  .peradventure  this  be  true.  Go  you,  and 
tell  her  of  it.  \_Several  persons  cross  the  stage.'] 
Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  —  0,  I  cry 
you  mercy,  friend ;  go  you  with  me,  and  I  will  use 
your  skill.  —  Good  cousin,  have  a  care  this  busy  time. 

[^Exeunt. 


240  MUCH   ADO  act  I. 

Scene   III. 
Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  John  the  Bastard  and  Conrade. 

Conrade.     What  the  good  year,  my  lord  !  why  are 
you  thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 

John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that 
breeds  [it],   therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Co7i.     You  should  hear  reason. 

John.  And  when  I  have  heard  it,  what  blessing 
brings  it  ? 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  suf- 
ferance. 

John.  I  wonder,  that  thou  being  (as  thou  say'st 
thou  art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a 
moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief.  I  cannot 
hide  what  I  am  :  I  must  be  sad  when  I  have  cause, 
and  smile  at  no  man's  jests  ;  eat  when  I  have  stom- 
ach, and  wait  for  no  man's  leisure  ;  sleep  when  I  am 
drowsy,  and  tend  on  no  man's  business  ;  laugh  when 
I  am  merry,  and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea ;  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show 
of  this  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment.  You 
have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother,  and  he 
hath  ta'en  you  newly  into  his  grace,  where  it  is 
impossible  you  should  take  root  but  by  the  fair 
weather  that  you  make  yourself:  it  is  needful  that 
you  frame  the  season  for  your  own  harvest. 

John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge  than 
a  rose  in  his  grace;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood  to 
be  disdain'd  of  all  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to  rob 
love  from  any  :  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be  said  to 
be   a   flatterinjr    honest    man,  it   must   not   be   denied 


i 


o 


sc.   III.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  241 

but  I  am  a  plain- dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted  with 
a  muzzle,  and  enfranchis'd  with  a  clog  ;  therefore  I 
have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my 
mouth,  I  would  bite ;  if  I  had  my  liberty,  I  would 
do  my  liking  :  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be  that  I 
am,  and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 

Con.     Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 

John.  I  will  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only. 
Who  comes  here  ?     What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 

Borachio.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper  :  the 
Prince,  your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leo- 
nato,  and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended 
marriage. 

John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mis- 
chief on  ?  AVhat  is  he,  for  a  fool,  that  betroths  him- 
self to  un  quietness  ? 

Bora.    Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

John.     Who  ?    the  most  exquisite  Claudio  ? 

Bora.    Even  he. 

John.  A  proper  squire  !  And  who,  [and  who]  ? 
which  way  looks  he  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of 
Leonato. 

John.  A  very  forward  March-chick  !  How  came 
you  to  this  ? 

Bora.  Being  entertain' d  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was 
smoking  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  Prince  and 
Claudio,  hand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference  :  I  whipp'd 
behind  the  arras,  and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon,  that 
the  Prince  should  woo  Hero  for  himself,  and  having 
obtain'd  her,  give  her  to  Count  Claudio. 

John.  Come,  come  ;  let  us  thither  :  this  may  prove 
food  to  my  displeasure.     That  young  start-up  hath  all 

VOL.    III.  P 


242  MUCH   ADO  act  ii. 

the  glory  of  my  overthrow  :  if  I  can  cross  him  any 
way,  I  bless  myself  every  way.  You  are  both  sure, 
and  will  assist  me  ? 

Con.     To  the  death,  my  lord. 

John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper:  their  cheer  is 
the  greater,  that  I  am  subdued.  'Would  the  cook 
were  of  my  mind  !  —  Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be 
done  ? 

Bora.     We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.     \_Exeunt. 


ACT    II. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Hall  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and 

others. 

Leonato. 

WAS  not  Count  John  here  at  supper  r 
Ant.     I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks  !  I  never 
can  see  him,  but  I  am  heart-biirn'd  an  hour  after. 

Hern.     He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man,  that  Avere  made 
just  in  the  mid-way  between  him  and  Benedick  :  the 
one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says  nothing ;  and  the 
other  too  like  my  lady's  eldest  son,  evermore  tattling. 

Leon.  Then,  half  Signior  Benedick's  tongue  in 
Count  John's  mouth,  and  half  Count  John's  melan- 
choly in  Signior  Benedick's  face,  — 

Beat.     With   a   good   leg   and   a   good  foot,  uncle. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  243 

and  money  enougli  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  woukl 
win  any  woman  in  the  world,  —  if  he  could  get  her 
good  will. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee 
a  husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

Ant.     In  faith,  she's  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst  :  I  shall  lessen 
God's  sending  that  way,  for  it  is  said,  '  God  sends 
a  curst  cow  short  horns  ;  '  but  to  a  cow  too  curst  he 
sends  none. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you 
no  horns  .^ 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband  ;  for  the 
which  blessing,  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every 
morning  and  evening.  Lord  !  I  could  not  endure  a 
husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face  :  I  had  rather  lie 
in  the  woollen. 

Leon.  You  may  light  on  a  husband  that  hath  no 
beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him  in 
my  apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentlewoman : 
He  that  hath  a  beard  is  more  than  a  youth,  and  he 
that  hath  no  beard  is  less  than  a  man ;  and  he  that 
is  more  than  a  youth  is  not  for  me ;  and  he  that  is 
less  than  a  man  I  am  not  for  him ;  therefore  I  will 
even  take  sixpence  in  earnest  of  the  be'r-'ard,  and 
lead  his  apes  into  Hell. 

Leon.     Well  then,  go  you  into  Hell  ? 

Beat.  Xo ;  but  to  the  gate ;  and  there  will  the 
Devil  meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  on 
his  head,  and  say,  '  Get  you  to  Heaven,  Beatrice,  get 
you  to  Heaven ;  here's  no  place  for  you  maids  :  '  so, 
deliver  I  up  my  apes,  and  away  to  St.  Peter  for  the 
Heavens  :  he  shows  me  where  the  bachelors  sit ;  and 
there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long. 


244  MUCH   ADO  act  ir. 

Ant.  Well,  niece,  [<o  Hero,]  I  trust,  you  will 
be  rul'd  by  your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  'faitb  :  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
courtesy,  and  say,  '  Father,  as  it  please  you  :  '  but 
yet  for  all  that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fel- 
low, or  else  make  another  courtesy,  and  say,  '  Fa- 
ther, as  it  please  me.' 

Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day 
fitted  with  a  husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal 
than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  to  be 
over-master'd  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ?  to  make 
an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  wayward  marl  r 
No,  uncle,  I'll  none  :  Adam's  sons  are  my  brethren ; 
and  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match  in  my  kin- 
dred. 

Leon.  Daughter,  remember  what  I  told  you  :  if 
the  Prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know 
your  answer. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if 
you  be  not  woo'd  in  good  time  :  if  the  Prince  be 
too  important,  tell  him,  there  is  measure  in  every 
thing,  and  so  dance  out  the  answer :  for,  hear  me. 
Hero  ;  wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting,  is  as  a  Scotch 
jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque-pace  :  the  first  suit  is 
hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full  as  fantas- 
tical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly,  modest,  as  a  measure 
full  of  state  and  ancientry  ;  and  then  comes  repent- 
ance, and  with  his  bad  legs  falls  into  the  cinque- 
pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Leon.    Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle  :  I  can  see  a  church 
by   day-light. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering,  brother.  Make 
good  room  ! 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  245 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Baltha- 
zar; John,  Borachio,  Margaret,  Ursula,  a?td 
Maskers. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your 
friend  ? 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly  and  look  sweetly  and 
say  nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk  ;  and,  espe- 
cially, when  I  walk  away. 

D.  Pedro.     With  me  in  your  company  ? 

Hero.     I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.     And  when  please  you  to  say  so? 

Hero.  When  I  like  your  favour ;  for  God  defend, 
the  lute  should  be  like  the  case  ! 

D.  Pedro.     My  visor  is    Philemon's    roof ;    Avithin 
the  house  is  Jove. 

Hero.     Why,  then  your  visor  should  be  thatch'd. 

D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[  Takes  her  aside. 

Balthazar.     Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Margaret.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake  ; 
for  I  have  many  ill  qualities. 

Balth.     Which  is  one  ? 

Marg.     I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Balth.  I  love  you  the  better;  the  hearers  may  cry 
Amen. 

Marg.     God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer  ! 

Balth.     Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when 
the  dance  is  done  !  —  Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.     No  more  words  :    the  clerk  is  answered. 

l^They  part. 

Ursula.  I  know  you  well  enough  :  you  are  Signior 
Antonio. 

Ant.     At  a  word,  I  am  not. 


246  MUCH   ADO  act  ii. 

Urs.     I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head. 

Ant.     To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless 
you  were  the  very  man.  Here's  his  dry  hand  up 
and  down  :    you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.     At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come :  do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
you  by  your  excellent  wit  ?  Can  virtue  hide  itself  ? 
Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he  :  graces  will  appear,  and 
there's  an  end.  [_They  pass  on. 

Beat.     "Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so? 

Bene.     No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.     Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are? 

Bene.     Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful,  and  that  I  had  my 
good  wit  out  of  the  Hundred  Merry  Tales.  —  Well, 
this  was  Signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.     What's  he  ? 

Beat.      I  am  sure,  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.     Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.      Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ? 

Bene.     I  pray  you,  what  is  he  ? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  Prince's  Jester  :  a  very  dull 
fool  ;  only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  : 
none  but  libertines  delight  in  him  ;  and  the  commen- 
dation is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in  his  villainy  ;  for  he 
both  pleases  men  and  angers  them,  and  then  they 
laugh  at  him  and  beat  him.  I  am  sure  he  is  in  the 
fleet ;    I  would  he  had  boarded  me  ! 

Bene.  When  I  know  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  him 
what  you  say. 

Beat.  Do,  do  :  hell  but  break  a  comparison  or 
two  on  me  ;  which,  peradventure,  not  mark'd,  or  not 
laugh' d  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy  ;  and  then 
there's  a  partridge'  wing  saved,  for  the  fool  will  eat 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  247 

no   supper   that    night.      \_Music   within.^     We    must 
follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.     In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill.  I  will  leave 
them  at  the  next  turning. 

l_Da>ice.      Then,  exeunt  all  hut  John,  Bo- 
EACHio,  and  Claudio. 

JoliJi.  Sure,  my  hrother  is  amorous  on  Hero,  and 
hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him  about 
it.     The  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one  visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  :  1  know  him  by  his 
bearing. 

John.     Are  not  you  Signior  Benedick? 

Claud.     You  know  me  well  :    I  am  he. 

John.  Sigrnior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in 
his  love  :  he  is  enamour' d  on  Hero.  I  pray  you, 
dissuade  him  from  her  ;  she  is  no  equal  for  his  birth : 
you  may  do  the  part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Claud.     How  know  you  he  loves  her  r 

John.     I  heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Bora.  So  did  I  too  ;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry 
her  to-night. 

John.     Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

\_Exeunt  John  aiid  Borachio. 

Claud.     Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick. 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio. 
"Tis  certain  so  :  —  the  Prince  woos  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things. 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues  : 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself, 
And  trust  no  agent ;    for  beauty  is  a  witch 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof, 
Which  I  mistrusted  not.      Farewell,  therefore,  Hero  ! 


248  MUCH   ADO  acx  ii. 

Enter  Benedick. 

Bene.     Count  Claudio  ? 

Claud.     Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.     Come,   will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claud.     AVhither  ? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own 
business.  Count.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the 
garland  of?  About  your  neck,  like  an  usurer's  chain, 
or  under  your  arm,  like  a  lieutenant's  scarf?  You 
must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the  Prince  hath  got  your 
Hero. 

Claud.      I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  Why,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover : 
so  they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think,  the  Prince 
would  have  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.     I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.  Ho  !  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  : 
'twas  the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat 
the  post. 

Claud.     If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.       [Exit. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !  Now  will  he  creep 
into  sedges.  —  But,  that  my  Lady  Beatrice  should 
know  me,  and  not  know  me  !  The  Prince's  Fool  I 
—  Ha  !  it  may  be,  I  go  under  that  title,  because  I 
am  merry.  —  Yea ;  but  so  I  am  apt  to  do  myself 
wrong  :  I  am  not  so  reputed  :  it  is  the  base,  though 
bitter,  disposition  of  Beatrice,  that  puts  the  world 
into  her  person,  and  so  gives  me  out.  Well,  I'll  be 
revenged  as  I  may. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Heko,  and  Leonato. 
D.Pedro.     Now,  Signior,  Where's  the  Count?     Did 
you  see  him  ? 

Bene.     Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  of 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  249 

Lady  Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a 
lodge  in  a  warren  :  I  told  him,  and,  I  think,  [I]  told 
him  true,  that  your  Grace  had  got  the  [good]  will 
of  this  young  lady  ;  and  I  offered  him  my  company 
to  a  willow  tree,  either  to  make  him  a  garland,  as 
being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  [up]  a  rod,  as  being 
worthy  to  be  whipp'd. 

D.  Pedro.     To  be  whipp'd!     Whafs  his  fault? 
Bene.     The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy  ;   who, 
being  overjoy" d  with   finding  a  bird's   nest,  shows  it 
his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgres- 
sion r     The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss,  the  rod  had  been 
made,  and  the  garland  too  ;  for  the  garland  he  might 
have  worn  himself,  and  the  rod  he  might  have  be- 
stow'd  on  you,  who,  as  I  take  it,  have  stol'n  his 
bird's  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  re- 
store them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my 
faith,  you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  Lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to 
you  :  the  gentleman,  that  danc'd  with  her,  told  her 
she  is  much  wrong" d  by  you. 

Bene.  O  !  she  misus"d  me  past  the  endurance  of 
a  block  :  an  oak,  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it,  would 
have  answered  her  :  my  very  visor  began  to  assume 
life  and  scold  with  her.  She  told  me,  not  thinking 
I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  Prince's  Jester, 
and  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw  ;  huddling 
jest  upon  jest,  with  such  impossible  conveyance, 
upon  me,  that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a 
whole  army  shooting   at  me.      She   speaks   poiniards, 

and  every  word  stabs  :   if  her  breath  were  as  terrible 

r2 


250  MUCH  ADO  act  ii. 

"as  her  terminations,  there  were  no  living  near  her; 
she  would  infect  to  the  North  Star.  I  would  not 
marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  all  that 
Adam  had  left  him  before  he  transgress' d  :  she  would 
have  made  Hercules  have  turn'd  spit,  yea,  and  have 
cleft  his  club  to  make  the  fire,  too.  Come,  talk  not 
of  her  ;  you  shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  good 
apparel.  I  would  to  God,  some  scholar  would  con- 
jure her  ;  for,  certainly,  while  she  is  here,  a  man  may 
live  as  quiet  in  Hell,  as  in  a  sanctuary  ;  and  people 
sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go  thither  :  so, 
indeed,  all    disquiet,  horror,  and   perturbation   follow 

her. 

Enter  Claudio  and  Beatrice. 

B.  Pedro.     Look,  here  she  comes. 

Bene.  Will  your  Grace  command  me  any  service 
to  the  world's  end  ?  I  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand 
now  to  the  Antipodes,  that  you  can  devise  to  send 
me  on :  I  will  fetch  you  a  toothpicker  now  from  the 
farthest  inch  of  Asia  ;  bring  you  the  length  of  Pres- 
ter  John's  foot ;  fetch  you  a  hair  off  the  great  Cham's 
beard  ;  do  you  any  embassage  to  the  Pigmies,  rath- 
er than  hold  three  words'  conference  with  this  harpy. 
You  have  no  employment  for  me  ? 

D.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  com- 
pany. 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not :  I  can- 
not endure  this  Lady  Tongue.  \^Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come  ;  you  have  lost  the 
heart  of  Signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  a  while  ;  and 
I  siave  him  use  for  it  —  a  double  heart  for  his  sin- 
gle  one  :  marry,  once  before  he  won  it  of  me  with 
false  dice ;  therefore  your  Grace  may  well  say  I  have 
lost  it. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  251 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady  ;  you 
have  put  him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord, 
lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  I  have 
brought  Count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  Count  ?  wherefore  are 
you   sad  ? 

Claud.     Not  sad,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.     How  then  ?     Sick  ? 

Claud.      Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  Count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor 
merry,  nor  well ;  but  civil.  Count,  civil  as  an  orange, 
and  something  of  a  jealous  complexidn. 

D.  Pedro.  V  faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to 
be  true  ;  though,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  con- 
ceit is  false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy 
name,  and  fair  Hero  is  won ;  I  have  broke  with  her 
father,  and  his  good  will  obtained  :  name  the  day  of 
marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy  ! 

Leon.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and,  with 
her,  my  fortunes  :  his  Grace  hath  made  the  match, 
and  all  grace  say  Amen  to  it  ! 

Beat.     Speak,   Count,   'tis  your  cue. 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy  :  I 
were  but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  much.  — 
Lady,  as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours  :  I  give  away 
myself  for  you,  and  dote  upon  the  exchange. 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his 
mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  let  him  not  speak  neither. 

D.  Ptdro.     In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

Beat.     Yea,  my  lord  ;   I  thank  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps 
on  the  windy  side  of  care.  —  My  cousin  tells  him  in 
his  ear,  that  he  is  in  her  heart. 
Claud.     And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.     Good  Lord,  for  alliance  !  —  thus  goes  every 


252  MUCH   ADO  act  ii. 

one  to  the  world  but  I ;  and  I  am  sun-burn'd :  I  may 
sit  in  a  corner,  and  cry,  heigh  ho  !    for  a  husband. 

D.  Pedro.     Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's 
getting.  Hath  your  Grace  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  ? 
Your  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could 
come  by  them. 

D.  Pedro.     Will  you  have  me,  lady  ? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another 
for  working-days  :  your  Grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
every  day.  —  But,  I  beseech  your  Grace,  pardon  me  ; 
I  Avas  born  to  speak  all  mirth  and  no  matter. 

D.  Pedro.  Your  silence  most  offends  me,  and  to 
be  merry  best  becomes  you  ;  for,  out  of  question, 
you  were  born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cried ;  but 
then  there  was  a  star  danc'd,  and  under  that  was  I 
born.  —  Cousins,  God  give  you  joy  ! 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told 
you  of? 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle.  —  By  your  Grace's 
pardon.  \_Exit  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.     By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leon.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element  in 
her,  my  lord  :  she  is  never  sad,  but  Avhen  she  sleeps  ; 
and  not  ever  sad  then  ;  for  I  have  heard  my  daugh- 
ter say,  she  hath  often  dream'd  of  unhappiness,  and 
wak'd  herself  with  laughing. 

D.  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a 
husband. 

Leon.  O  !  by  no  means,  she  mocks  all  her  woo- 
ers out  of  suit. 

D.  Pedro.    She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  Lord  !  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week 
married,  they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  253 

D.  Pedro.  Count  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go 
to  church  ? 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord.  Time  goes  on  crutches, 
till  Love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is 
hence  a  just  seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief,  too, 
to  have  all  things  answer  [my]  mind. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long 
a  breathing  ;  but,  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time 
shall  not  go  dully  by  us.  I  will,  in  the  interim, 
undertake  one  of  Hercules'  labours,  which  is,  to  bring 
Signior  Benedick  and  the  Lady  Beatrice  into  a  moun- 
tain of  affection,  th'  one  with  th'  other.  I  would  fain 
have  it  a  match  ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  to  fashion  it, 
if  you.  three  will  but  minister  such  assistance  as  I 
shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me 
ten  nights'  watchings. 

Claud.     And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.     And  you  too,  gentle   Hero  ? 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help 
my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

D.  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unhopefullest 
husband  that  I  know.  Thus  far  can  I  praise  him : 
he  is  of  a  noble  strain,  of  approved  valour,  and  con- 
firm'd  honesty.  I  will  teach  you  how  to  humour 
your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in  love  with  Ben- 
edick ; —  and  I,  with  your  two  helps,  will  so  prac- 
tise on  Benedick,  that,  in  despite  of  his  quick  wit 
and  his  queasy  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in  love  Avith  Bea- 
trice. If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer  an 
archer  :  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only 
love-gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  my 
drift.  \_Exeimt. 


254  MUCH   ADO  act  ii. 

Scene  II. 
Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  John  the  Bastard,  and  Borachio. 

John.  It  is  so  :  the  Count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
daughter  of  Leonato. 

Bora.     Yea,  my  lord  ;    but  I  can  cross  it. 

John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment  will  be 
medicinable  to  me  :  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to  him, 
and  whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  affection  ranges 
evenly  with  mine.  How  canst  thou  cross  this  mar- 
riage ? 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord ;  but  so  covertly  that 
no  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

John.     Show  me,  briefly,  how. 

Bora.  I  think  I  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since, 
how  much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  wait- 
ing-gentlewoman to  Hero. 

John.     I  remember.  ^ 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the 
night,  appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber- 
window. 

John.  What  life  is  in  that  to  be  the  death  of  this 
marriage  ? 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  Prince,  your  brother  :  spare  not  to  tell 
him  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying  the 
renowned  Claudio  (whose  estimation  do  you  mightily 
hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  stale,  such  a  one  as  Hero. 

John.     What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  Prince,  to  vex 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato.  Look  you 
for  any  other  issue  ? 


sc.   III.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  255 

John.  Only  to  despite  them  I  will  endeavour  any 
thing. 

Bora.  Go,  then ;  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw 
Don  Pedro  and  the  Count  Claudio  alone  :  tell  them 
that  you  know  that  Hero  loves  me  ;  intend  a  kind 
of  zeal  both  to  the  Prince  and  Claudio,  (as  in  love 
of  your  brother's  honour,  who  hath  made  this  match, 
and  his  friend's  reputation,  who  is  thus  like  to  be 
cozen'd  with  the  semblance  of  a  maid,)  that  you  have 
discover' d  thus.  They  will  scarcely  believe  this  with- 
out trial  :  oifer  them  instances,  which  shall  bear  no 
less  likelihood  than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber-window, 
hear  me  call  Margaret,  Hero  ;  hear  Margaret  term  me 
Claudio  ;  and  bring  them  to  see  this  the  very  night 
before  the  intended  wedding :  for  in  the  mean  time 
I  will  so  fashion  the  matter,  that  Hero  shall  be  ab- 
sent, and  there  shall  appear  such  seeming  truth  of 
her  disloyalty,  that  jealousy  shall  be  call'd  assurance, 
and  all  the  preparation  overthrown. 

Joh7i.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  I 
will  put  it  in  practice.  Be  cunning  in  the  working 
this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my 
cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 

John.  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  mar- 
riage. [^Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. 
Leonato's  Garden. 

Enter  Benedick,  a  Boy  following. 

Bene.     Boy ! 
Boy.     Signior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber-window  lies  a  book  ;  bring 
it  hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 


256  MUCH   ADO  act  ii. 

Boy.     I   am  here  already,   sir. 

Bene.  I  know  that  ;  [_E.vit  Boy.]  but  I  would  haA'c 
thee  hence,  and  here  again.  I  do  much  wonder,  that 
one  man,  seeing  how  much  another  man  is  a  fool 
when  he  dedicates  his  behaviours  to  love,  will,  after 
he  hath  laugh'd  at  such  shallow  follies  in  others,  be- 
come the  argument  of  his  own  scorn,  by  falling  in  love; 
and  such  a  man  is  C'laudio.  I  have  known  when  there 
was  no  music  with  him  but  the  drum  and  the  fife : 
and  now  had  he  rather  hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe : 
I  have  known  when  he  would  have  walk'd  ten  mile 
afoot  to  see  a  good  armour ;  and  now  will  he  lie  ten 
nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet. 
He  was  wont  to  speak  plain  and  to  the  purpose,  like 
an  honest  man  and  a  soldier  ;  and  now  is  he  turn'd 
orthographcr  :  his  words  are  a  very  fantastical  ban- 
quet— just  so  many  strange  dishes.  May  I  be  so 
converted,  and  see  with  these  eyes  ?  I  cannot  tell ; 
I  think  not :  I  will  not  be  sworn  but  Love  may  trans- 
form me  to  an  oyster  ;  but  I'll  take  my  oath  on  it, 
till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never 
make  me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am 
well :  another  is  wise,  yet  I  am  well  :  another  vir- 
tuous, yet  I  am  well  ;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one 
wojnan,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my  grace.  Rich 
she  shall  be,  that's  certain  ;  wise,  or  I'll  none  ;  vir- 
tuous, or  I'll  never  cheapen  her ;  fair,  or  I'll  never 
look  on  her  ;  mild,  or  come  not  near  me  :  noble,  or 
not  I,  for  an  angel  ;  of  good  discourse,  an  excellent 
musician,  and  her  hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it 
please  God.  Ha  !  the  Prince  and  Monsieur  Love  I  I 
will  hide  me  in  the  arbour.  [  Withdraws. 

Enter  Don   Pkdro,   Leoxato,   Claudio,    and    Bal- 
thazar. 

D.  Pedro.     Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ? 


sc.   III.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  257 

Claud.   Yea,  my  good  lord.    How  still  the  evening  is ! 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony. 

D.  Pedro.     See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  him- 
self? 

Claud.      O,  very  well,  my  lord :    the  music  ended. 
Well  fit  the  kid-fox  with  a  penny-worth. 

D.  Pedro.     Come,  Balthazar,  we'll  hear  that  song 
again. 

Balth.     O  !    good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedro.     It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency. 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection.  — 
I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Balth.     Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing  ; 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy  ;    yet  he  woos  ; 
Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  pray  thee,  come  : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument. 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes  ; 

There's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

D.  Pedro.     Why,  these  are  very  crotchets  that  he 
speaks  ; 
Note  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing  !  [^Music. 

Bene.  \_In  the  arbour.^  Now,  divine  air!  now  is 
his  soul  ravish'd  !  —  Is  it  not  strange,  that  sheep's 
<Tuts  should  hale  souls  out  of  men's  bodies?  —  Well, 
a  horn  for  my  money,  when  all's  done. 


Balthazar's   Song. 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 
Men  were  deceivers  ecer  ; 

One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore ; 
To  one  thing  constant  never. 

VOL.    lU.  Q 


258  MUCH   ADO  act  il. 

Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  llicm  go. 
And  he  you  blithe  and  bonny, 

Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into,   Hey  nonny,  7ionny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo 
Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy ; 

The  frauds  of  men  were  ever  so. 
Since  Summer  first  was  leavy. 

Then  sigh  not  so,   &;c. 

D.  Pedro.      By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

Balth.     And  an  ill   singer,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Ha  ?  no,  no,  'faith  ;  thou  singest  well 
enough  for  a  shift. 

Bene.  An  he  had  been  a  dog  that  should  have 
howl'd  thus,  they  would  have  hang'd  him  ;  and  I 
pray  God,  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief!  I  had 
as  lief  have  heard  the  night-raven,  come  what  plague 
could  have  come  after  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  marry;  dost  thou  hear,  Balthazar? 
I  pray  thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music  ;  for  to-mor- 
row night  we  would  have  it  at  the  Lady  Hero's  cham- 
ber-window. 

Balth.     The  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Do  so  ;  farewell.  \^Exit  Balthazar.] 
Come  hither,  Leonato  :  what  was  it  you  told  me  of 
to-day  ?  that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love  with 
Signior  Benedick  r 

Claud.  ^Aside  to  Pedro.]  O,  ay:  —  stalk  on,  stalk 
on  ;  the  fowl  sits.  [J.ZoMrf.]  I  did  never  think  that 
lady  would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither  ;  but  most  wonderful  that 
she  should  so  dote  on  Signior  Benedick,  whom  she 
hath  in  all  outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to  abhor. 


sc.  III.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  259 

Bene.     Is't  possible  ?     Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what 
to  think  of  it,  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  en- 
raged affection  :   it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

D.  Pedro.     May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.     'Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God  !  counterfeit  !  There  was  never  coun- 
terfeit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion, 
as  she  discovers  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows 
she? 

Claud.  \_Aside.^  Bait  the  hook  well  :  this  fish 
will  bite. 

Leon.  What  effects,  my  lord  ?  She  will  sit  you, 
—  you  heard  my  daughter  tell  yoii  how. 

Claud.     She  did,  indeed. 

D.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze 
me  :  I  would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  in- 
vincible against  all  assaults  of  affection. 

Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord  ;  es- 
pecially against  Benedick. 

Bene.  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the 
white-bearded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavery  cannot,  sure, 
hide  himself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  [_Aside.^  He  hath  ta'en  th'  infection  :  hold 
it  up. 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known  to 
Benedick  ? 

Leon.  No,  and  swears  she  never  will :  that's  her 
torment. 

Claud.  'Tis  true,  indeed  ;  so  your  daughter  says : 
"  Shall  I,"  says  she,  "  that  have  so  oft  encounter'd 
him  with  scorn,  write  to  him  that  I  love  him?" 

Leon.  This  says  she,  now,  when  she  is  beginning 
to  write  to  him ;  for  she'll  be  up  twenty  times  a  night, 


260  MUCH   ADO  act   ii. 

and  there  will  she  sit  in  her  smock,  till  she  have 
writ  a  sheet  of  paper.  —  My  daughter  tells  us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  re- 
member a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O  !  —  when  she  had  writ  it,  and  was  read- 
ing it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between 
the  sheet  ? 

Claud.     That. 

Leon.  O  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  half 
pence ;  rail'd  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so  im- 
modest to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  flout 
her :  —  "I  measure  him,"  says  she,  "  by  my  own 
spirit  ;  for  I  should  flout  him,  if  he  writ  to  me  ; 
yea,  though  I  love  him,  I  should." 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps, 
sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays  ;  —  cries, 
"  O  sweet  Benedick  !    God  give  me  patience  !  " 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed  :  my  daughter  says  so  ; 
and  the  ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her,  that 
my  davighter  is  sometimes  afeard  she  will  do  a  des- 
perate outrage  to  herself.     It  is  very  true. 

D.  Pedro.  It  were  good,  that  Benedick  knew  of 
it  by  some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  but  make  a  sport 
of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  [-deed] 
to  hang  him.  She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady ;  and, 
out  of  all  suspicion,  she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.     And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  every  thing,  but  in  loving  Bene- 
dick. 

Leon.  O  !  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating 
in  so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that 
blood  hath  the  victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I 
have  just  cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 


8C.  III.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  261 

D.  Pedro.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage 
on  me  ;  I  would  have  dafF'd  all  other  respects,  and 
made  her  half  myself.  I  pray  you,  tell  Benedick  of 
it,  and  hear  what  he  will  say. 

Leon.     Were  it  good,  think  you  ? 

Claud.  Hero  thinks  surely,  she  will  die  ;  for  she 
says  she  will  die  if  he  love  her  not,  and  she  will 
die  ere  she  make  her  love  known,  and  she  will  die 
if  he  woo  her,  rather  than  she  will  'bate  one  breath 
of  her  accustomed  crossness. 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well :  if  she  should  make 
tender  of  her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it ; 
for  the  man,  as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible 
spirit. 

Claud.     He  is  a  very  proper  man. 

D.  Pedro.  He  hath,  indeed,  a  good  outward  hap- 
piness. 

Claud.     'Fore  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth,  indeed,  show  some  sparks 
that  are  like  wit. 

Leon.     And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you :  and  in  the 
managing  of  quarrels  you  may  see  he  is  wise ;  for 
either  he  avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  un- 
dertakes them  with  a  christian-like  fear. 

Leon.  If  he  do  fear  God,  he  must  necessarily  keep 
peace  :  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into 
a  quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. 

D.  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do  ;  for  the  man  doth 
fear  God^  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some 
large  jests  he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  your 
niece.  Shall  we  go  seek  Benedick,  and  tell  him  of 
her  love  ? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord  :  let  her  wear  it 
out  with  good  counsel. 


262  MUCH   ADO  act  il. 

Leon.  Nay,  that's  impossible  ;  she  may  wear  her 
heart  out  first. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  we  will  hear  farther  of  it  by  your 
daughter  :  let  it  cool  the  while.  I  love  Benedick  well, 
and  I  could  wish  he  would  modestly  examine  him- 
self, to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy  to  have  so  good 
a  lady. 

Leo?i.     My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?    dinner  is.  ready. 

Claud.  lAside.^  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon 
this,  I  will  never  trust  my  expectation. 

D.  Pedro.  ^Aside.']  Let  there  be  the  same  net 
spread  for  her ;  and  that  must  your  daughter  and 
her  gentlewoman  carry.  The  sport  will  be,  when 
they  hold  one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotage,  and 
no  such  matter  :  that's  the  scene  that  I  would  see, 
which  will  be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us  send 
her  to  call  him  in  to  dinner. 

\_Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 
Benedick  advances  from  the  arbour. 

Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick  :  the  conference  was 
sadly  borne.  —  They  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero. 
They  seem  to  pity  the  lady.  It  seems,  her  affections 
have  their  full  bent.  Love  me  !  why,  it  must  be  re- 
quited. I  hear  how  I  am  censur'd.  They  say,  I  will 
bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come  from 
her  :  they  say,  too,  that  she  will  rather  die  than  give 
any  sign  of  affection.  —  I  did  never  think  to  marry. 
—  I  must  not  seem  proud.  —  Happy  are  they  that 
hear  their  detractions,  and  can  put  them  to  mending. 
They  say,  the  lady  is  fair;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can  bear 
them  witness  :  and  virtuous  ;  'tis  so,  I  cannot  reprove 
it :  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me ;  by  my  troth,  it  is 
no  addition  to  her  wit,  nor  no  great  argument  of  her 
folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly  in  love  with  her.  I  may 
chance   have    some   odd    quirks   and   remnants  of   wit 


sc.  III.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  263 

broken  on  me,  because  I  have  raird  so  long  against 
marriage  ;  but  doth  not  the  appetite  alter  ?  A  man 
loves  the  meat  in  his  youth,  that  he  cannot  endure 
in  his  age.  Shall  quips,  and  sentences,  and  these 
paper  bullets  of  the  brain,  awe  a  man  from  the  ca- 
reer of  his  humour  ?  No  ;  the  world  must  be  peo- 
pled. When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did 
not  think  I  should  live  till  I  were  married.  —  Here 
comes  Beatrice.  By  this  day,  she's  a  fair  lady  :  I 
do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come 
in  to  dinner. 

Bene.     Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me  :  if  it  had  been  painful, 
I  would  not  have  come. 

Bene.     You  take  pleasure,  then,  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon 
a  knife's  point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal.  —  You  have 
no  stomach,  signior  :    fare  you  well.  \_Exit 

Bene.  Ha  !  "  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid 
you  come  in  to  dinner"  —  there's  a  double  meaning 
in  that.  "  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks, 
than  you  took  pains  to  thank  me  "  —  that's  as  much 
as  to  say,  any  pains  that  I  take  for  you  is  as  easy 
as  thanks.  —  If  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I  am  a 
villain  :  if  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jew.  I  will 
go  get  her  picture.  \^Exit. 


264  MUCH    ADO  act  iii. 

ACT     III. 

Scene  I.  —  Leonato's  Garden. 
Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 


G 


Hero. 
OOD  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlour 


There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  Prince  and  Claudio  : 
Whisper  her  ear,  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard,  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her  :   say,  that  thou  overheard'st  us  ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honey-suckles,  ripen" d  by  the  sun. 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter,  like  favourites. 
Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against   that   power   that   bred   it.  —  There   will    she 

hide  her. 
To  listen  our  propose.     This  is  thy  office  ; 
Bear  thee  well  in  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

Marg.     I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  pres- 
ently. 'lExit. 

Hero.     Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come. 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down. 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick  : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit. 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be,  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice  :    of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay. 


sc.  I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  265 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

Now  begin ; 
For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.     The  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ;    who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine   coverture. 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.     Then    go  we    near    her,  that    her    ear    lose 
nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it.  — 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too   disdainful ; 
I  know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 

Hero.      So    says    the   Prince,  and    my   new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs.     And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  Madam  ? 

Hero.     They  did  intreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it; 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  lov'd  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection. 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.     Why  did  you  so  ?     Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed. 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon? 

Hero.'    O  god  of  love!     I  know  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man  ; 
But  Nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stufi"  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on  ;   and  her  wit 

Q2 


266  MUCH    ADO  act  in. 

Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to   her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak.      She  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 
She  is  so  self-eudearod. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so  ; 

And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.     Why,  you    speak    truth.     I   never  yet  saw 
man, 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featur'd. 
But  she  would  spell  him  bac.kward  :    if  fair-fac'd. 
She  would  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister : 
If  black,  why,  Nature,   drawing  of  an  antic. 
Made  a  foul  blot  :    if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  : 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut : 
If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds  : 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out, 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.     Sure,    sure,    such    carping   is   not    commend- 
able. 
Hero.     No  ;    not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fash- 
ions 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be   commendable. 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  ?     If  I  should  speak. 
She  would  mock  me  into  air  :    O  !    she  would  laugh 

me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover'd   fire. 
Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 
It  were  a  bitter  death  to  die  with  mocks, 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling. 

Urs.     Yet  tell  her  of  it:    hear  what  she  will  say. 
Hero.     No ;   rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 


sc. 


ABOUT    NOTHING.  267 


And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion  : 
And,  truly,  I'll  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with.      One  doth  not  know 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs.      O  !    do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment 
(Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit, 
As  she  is  priz'd  to  have)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  Signior  Benedick. 

Hero.     He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.     I  pray    you,    be  not   angry    with    me.    Mad- 
am ; 
Speaking  my  fancy,  Signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument,   and  valour. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.     Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 
Urs.     His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it.  — 
When  are  you  married.  Madam  ? 

Hero.     Why,  every  day  ;  —  to-morrow.     Come,  go 
in  : 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires,  and  have  thy  counsel, 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urs.     '[Aside.']     She's    ta'en,  I   warrant   you :    we 

have  caught  her,  Madam. 
Hero.     [Aside.]     If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes 
by  haps : 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Exeunt  Hero  and  Ursula  ;  Beatrice 
comes  forward. 
Beat.     What   fire   is  in  mine  ears  ?     Can   this    be 

true  ? 
Stand  I  condemn' d  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much  ? 
Contempt,  farewell  !    and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 
No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 


268  MUCH    ADO  act  hi. 

And,   Benedick,  love  on  :    I  will  requite  thee, 
Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand. 

If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 
To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band  ; 

For  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 

Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  \_Exit. 


Scene  II. 

A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and 
Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be 
consummate,  and  then  go  I  toward  Arragon. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  Lord,  if  youll 
vouchsafe  me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay  ;  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in 
the  new  gloss  of  your  marriage  as  to  show  a  child 
his  new  coat,  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only 
be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company  ;  for  from 
the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  he  is 
all  mirth  :  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  bow- 
string, and  the  little  hangman  dare  not  shoot  at  him. 
He  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  bell,  and  his  tongue 
is  the  clapper ;  for  what  his  heart  thinks,  his  tongue 
speaks. 

Bene.     Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.      So  say  I  :    methinks  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.     I  hope  he  be  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant !  there's  no  true  drop 
of  blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love.  If 
he  be  sad,  he  wants  money. 

Bene.     I  have  the  tooth-ache. 


sc.   II.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  269 

D.  Pedro.     Draw  it. 

Bene.     Hang  it ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  after- 
wards. 

D.  Pedro.     What !   sigh  for  the  tooth-ache  ? 

Leon.     Where  is  but  a  humour,   or  a  worm  ? 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  a  grief,  but  he 
that  has  it. 

Claud.     Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in  him, 
unless  it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  dis- 
guises ;  as  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day,  a  Frenchman 
to-morrow,  [or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries  at  once ; 
as  a  German  from  the  waist  downward,  all  slops,  and 
a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no  doublet.]  Un- 
less he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  as  it  appears  he 
hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you  would  have  it 
appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman, 
there  is  no  believing  old  signs  :  he  brushes  his  hat 
o'  mornings  ;    what  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  bar- 
ber's ? 

Claud.  No  ;  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen 
with  him  ;  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath 
already  stufF'd  tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by 
the  loss  of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  he  rubs  himself  with  civet  :  can 
you  smell- him  out  by  that? 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet  youth's 
in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melan- 
choly. 

Claud.     And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face  r 


270  MUCH    ADO  act  hi. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the  which, 
I  hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit,  which  is  now 
crept  into  a  lutestring,  and    now  govern'd   by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him. 
Conclude  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.     Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I  know  too :  I  warrant, 
one  that  knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions  ;  and,  in  de- 
spite of  all,  dies  for  him. 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  —  with  her  face 
upwards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  toothache.  — 
Old  signior,  walk  aside  with  me  :  I  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hear. 

\_Exeunt  Benedick  and  Leoxato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about 
Beatrice. 

Claud.  'Tis  even  so.  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by 
this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice,  and  then  the 
two  bears  will  not  bite  one  another  when  they  meet. 

Enter  John  the  Bastard. 

John.     My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 

D.  Pedro.     Good  den,  brother. 

John.  If  your  leisure  serv'd,  I  would  speak  with 
you. 

D.  Pedro.     In  private  ? 

John.  If  it  please  you  ;  yet  Count  Claudio  may 
hear ;   for  what  I  would  speak  of  concerns  him. 

D.  Pedro.     What's  the  matter  ? 

John.  \^To  Claudio.]  Means  your  lordship  to  be 
married  to-morrow  ? 


/ 

sc.   II.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  271 

B.  Pedro.     You  know,  he  does. 

John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  I 
know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you, 
discover  it. 

John.  You  may  think,  I  love  you  not :  let  that 
appear  hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I  now 
will  manifest.  For  my  brother,  I  think,  he  holds  you 
well,  and  in  dearness  of  heart  hath  holp  to  effect  your 
ensuing  marriage  ;  surely,  suit  ill  spent,  and  labour 
ill  bestowed  ! 

D.  Pedro.     Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  circumstances 
shorten' d,  (for  she  has  been  too  long  a  talking  of,) 
the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.     Who?    Hero? 

John.  Even  she  :  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero,  ev- 
ery man's  Hero. 

Claud.     Disloyal  ? 

John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her  wick- 
edness :  I  could  say,  she  were  worse  :  think  you  of 
a  worse  title,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder  not 
till  farther  warrant :  go  but  with  me  to-night,  you 
shall  see  her  chamber-window  enter'd,  even  the  night 
before  her  wedding-day  :  if  you  love  her  then,  to- 
morrow wed  her  ;  but  it  would  better  fit  your  hon- 
our to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.     May  this  be  so  ? 

D.  Pedro.     I  will  not  think  it. 

John.  -If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  confess 
not  that  you  know.  If  you  will  follow  me,  I  will 
show  you  enough ;  and  when  you  have  seen  more, 
and  heard  more,  proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.     If  I  see  any  thing  to-night,  why  I  should 


272  MUCH  ADO  act  iir. 

not  marry  her  to-morrow,  in  the  congregation,  where 
I  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain 
her,  I  will  join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her. 

John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther,  till  you  are 
my  witnesses  :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  night,  and  let 
the  issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.     O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.      O  mischief  strangely  thwarting  ! 

John.  O  plague  right  well  prevented !  So  will 
you  say,  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel.     [_Exeunt. 


Scene   III. 
A  Street. 

Enter  Dogberry  a7id  Verges,  with  the  Watch. 

Dogberry.     Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verges.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should 
suffer  salvation,  body  and  soul, 

Dogh.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for 
them,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them, 
being  chosen  for  the  Prince's  Watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Dogh.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless 
man  to  be  Constable  ? 

1  Watch.  Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal, 
for  they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogh.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal.  God  hath 
bless'd  you  with  a  good  name  :  to  be  a  well-favoured 
man  is  the  gift  of  fortune,  but  to  write  and  read 
comes  by  nature. 

2  Watch.     Both  which.  Master  Constable,  — 


sc.   III.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  273 

Dogh.  You  have  :  I  knew  it  would  be  your  an- 
swer. Well,  for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God 
thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  it  ;  and  for  your  writ- 
ing and  reading,  let  that  appear  when  there  is  no 
need  of  such  vanity.  You  are  thought  here  to  be 
the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  the  Constable  of 
the  Watch  ;  therefore  bear  you  the  lanthorn.  This  is 
your  charge.  You  shall  comprehend  all  vagrom  men  : 
you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in  the  Prince's  name. 

2  Watch.     How,  if  "a  will  not  stand  r 

Bogh.  Why  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him 
go  ;  and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  Watch  together, 
and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he 
is  none  of  the  Prince's  subjects. 

Dogh.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none 
but  the  Prince's  subjects.  —  You  shall  also  make  no 
noise  in  the  streets  ;  for  for  the  Watch  to  babble  and 
talk  is  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured. 

2  Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk  :  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  Watch. 

Dogh.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping  should 
offend  ;  only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stol'n. 
Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid 
those  that  are  drunk  get  them  to  bed. 

2  Watch.     How,  if  they  will  not? 

Dogh.  Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are 
sober  :  if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer, 
you  may  say,  they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 

2  Watch.     Well,  sir. 

Dogh.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him, 
by  virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  ;  and,  for 
such  kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with 
them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

VOL.    III.  u 


274  MUCH    ADO  act  hi. 

2  Watch.  If  wc  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we 
not  lay  hands  on  him : 

Dogb.  Truly,  by  your  office  you  may  ;  but,  I  think, 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defird.  The  most  peace- 
able way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is,  to  let 
him  show  himself  what  he  is,  and  steal  out  of  your 
company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  call'd  a  merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ; 
much  more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you 
must  call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2  Watch.  How,  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will 
not  hear  us  ? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  with  crying  ;  for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear 
her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answer  a  calf  when 
he  bleats. 

Verg.     'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  Con- 
stable, are  to  present  the  Prince's  own  person :  if  you 
meet  the  Prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verg.     Nay,  by"r  lady,   that,   I  think,  'a  cannot. 

Dosb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  anv  man 
that  knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  marry,  not 
without  the  Prince  be  willing ;  for,  indeed,  the  watch 
ought  to  offend  no  man,  and  it  is  an  offence  to  stay 
a  man  against  his  will. 

Verg.     By'r  lady,   I  think,  it  be  so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  Well,  masters,  good  night : 
an"  there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up  me. 
Keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own,  and  good 
night.     Come,  neighbour. 

2  Watch.      Well,  Masters,  we  hear  our  charge :   let 


sc.   III.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  275 

us  go  sit  here  upon  the   church-bench   till   two,  and 
then  all  to  bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbours.  I  pray 
you  watch  about  Signior  Leonato's  door ;  for  the  wed- 
ding being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great  coil  to- 
night.    Adieu,  be  vigitant,  I  beseech  you. 

\_Exeunt  DoGBERKY  and  Verges. 

Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.     What !    Conrade  ! 

Watch.     \_Aside.~\     Peace !    stir  not ! 

Bora.     Conrade,  I  say  ! 

Con.     Here,  man  ;   I  am  at  thy  elbow. 

Bora.  Mass  !  and  my  elbow  itch'd  ;  I  thought, 
there  would  a  scab  follow. 

Con.  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that  ;  and 
now  forward  with  thy  tale. 

Bora.  Stand  thee  close,  then,  under  this  penthouse  ; 
for  it  drizzles  rain,  and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard, 
utter  all  to  thee. 

Watch.  [J.si'rfe.]  Some  treason.  Masters  ;  yet  stand 
close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don  John 
a  thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villainy  should  be 
so  dear  ? 

Bora.  Thou  should' st  rather  ask,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible any  villainy  should  be  so  rich  ;  for  when  rich 
villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make 
what  price  they  will. 

Con.     I  wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  That  shows  thou  art  unconfirm'd.  Thou 
knowest,  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or 
a  cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.     Yes,  it  is  apparel. 


276  MUCH    ADO  act   hi. 

Bora.     I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Con.     Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush  !  I  may  as  well  say,  the  fool's  the 
fool.  But  seest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this 
fashion  is  ? 

Watch.  [^Aside.']  I  know  that  Deformed ;  'a  has 
been  a  vile  thief  this  seven  year  :  'a  goes  up  and 
down  like  a  gentleman.      I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.      Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  ? 

Con.     Xo  :    'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed 
thief  this  fashion  is  ?  how  giddily  'a  turns  about  all 
the  hot  bloods  between  fourteen  and  five  and  thirty  ? 
sometime,  fashioning  them  like  Pharaoh's  soldiers  in 
the  reechy  painting  ;  sometime,  like  god  Bel's  priests 
in  the  old  church  window  ;  sometime,  like  the  shaven 
Hercules  in  the  smirch'd  worm-eaten  tapestry,  where 
his  cod-piece  seems  as  massy  as  his  club  ? 

Con.  All  this  I  see,  and  I  see  that  the  fashion 
wears  out  more  apparel  than  the  man.  Biit  art  not 
thou  thyself  giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou 
hast  shifted  out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the 
fashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so,  neither  ;  but  know,  that  I  have  to- 
night wooed  Margaret,  the  Lady  Hero's  gentlewoman, 
by  the  name  of  Hero  :  she  leans  me  out  at  her  mis- 
tress' chamber-window,  bids  me  a  thousand  times  good 
night.  —  I  tell  this  tale  vilely  :  —  I  should  first  tell 
thee,  how  the  Prince,  Claudio,  and  my  master,  plant- 
ed, and  placed,  and  possessed  by  my  master,  Don 
John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard  this  amiable  en- 
counter. 

Con.     And  thought  thy  Margaret  was  Hero  ? 

Bora.  Two  of  them  did.  the  Prince  and  Claudio  ; 
but  the  devil,  my  master,  knew  she   was   Margaret ; 


sc.    IV.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  277 

and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possess'd  them, 
partly  by  the  dark  night,  which  did  deceive  them,  bnt 
chiefly  by  my  villainy,  which  did  confirm  any  slan- 
der that  Don  John  had  made,  away  went  Claudio  en- 
rao-ed  ;  —  swore  he  would  meet  her,  as  he  was  ap- 
pointed,  next  morning  at  the  temple,  and  there,  before 
the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what  he  saw 
o'er-night,  and  send  her  home  again  without  a  hus- 
band. 

1  Watch.     We    charge    you  in  the  Prince's    name, 

stand. 

2  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  Master  Constable.  We 
have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of 
lechery  that  ever  was  known  in   the   commonwealth. 

1  Watch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them  :  I 
know  him ;   'a  wears  a  lock. 

Co7i.     Masters,  Masters  ! 

2  Watch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth,  I 
warrant  you. 

Con.     Masters,  — 

1  Watch.  Never  speak  :  we  charge  you,  let  us  obey 
you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity, 
being  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.  A  commodity  in  question,  I  warrant  you. 
Come,   we'll   obey  you.  \_Exeiiiit. 


Scene  I"V. 
A  Koom  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Heko,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.     Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and 
desire  her  to  rise. 


278  MUCH  ADO  act  hi. 

Urs.     I  will,  lady. 

Hero.     And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.     Well.  \_Exit  Ursula. 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think  your  other  rabato  were  bet- 
ter. 

Hero.     No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  's  not  so  good  ;  and,  I  war- 
rant, your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another. 
I'll  wear  none  but  this. 

Marg.  I  like  the  new  tire  within  excellently,  if 
the  hair  were  a  thought  browner  ;  and  your  gown's 
a  most  rare  fashion,  i"  faith.  I  saw  the  Duchess  of 
Milan's  gown,  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.     O,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  's  but  a  night-gown  in  re- 
spect of  yours  :  cloth  o'  gold,  and  cuts,  and  lac'd  with 
silver,  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side  sleeves,  and 
skirts  round,  under-borne  with  a  bluish  tinsel  ;  but 
for  a  fine,  quaint,  graceful,  and  excellent  fashion, 
yours  is  worth  ten  on  't. 

Hero.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart 
is  exceeding  heavy  ! 

Marg.  'Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the  weight  of 
a  man. 

Hero.     Fie  upon  thee  !    art  not  asham'd  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady?  of  speaking  honourably? 
Is  not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar  ?  Is  not 
your  lord  honourable  without  marriage  ?  I  think  you 
would  have  me  say,  saving  your  reverence,  '  a  hus- 
band :  ■  an  bad  thinking  do  not  wrest  true  speaking, 
ril  offend  nobody.  Is  there  any  harm  in  '  the 
lu-avier  for  a  husband  '  ?  None,  I  think,  an  it  be  the 
riglit  husband  and  the  right  wife  ;  otherwise  'tis  light, 
and  not  heavy  :  ask  my  Lady  Beatrice  else  ;  here  she 
comes. 


sc.   IV.  ABOTT   NOTHING.  279 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero.     Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.     Good  morrow,   sweet  Hero. 

Hero.  Why,  how  now  ?  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 
tune  ? 

Beat.     I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Marg.  Clap  's  into  Light  o'  love ;  that  goes  with- 
out a  burthen  :    do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance   it. 

Beat.  Yea,  Light  o'  love,  with  your  heels  !  —  then, 
if  your  husband  have  stables  enough,  you'll  look  he 
shall  lack  no  barns. 

Marg.  O,  illegitimate  construction  !  I  scorn  that 
with  my  heels. 

Beat.  "Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin  :  'tis  time 
you  were  ready.  By  my  troth,  I  am  exceeding  ill. 
—  Heigh  ho  ! 

Marg.     For  a  hawk,   a  horse,  or  a  husband? 

Beat.     For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turn'd  Turk,  there's 
no  more  sailing  by  the  Star. 

Beat.     What  means  the  fool,  '  trow  ? 

Marg.  Nothing  I  ;  but  God  send  every  one  their 
heart's   desire  ! 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  Count  sent  me,  they  are 
an  excellent  perfume. 

Beat.     I  am  stufi"d,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  stuff'd  !  there's  goodly  catch- 
ing of  cold. 

Beat.  '  O,  God  help  me  !  God  help  me  !  how  long 
have  you  profess' d  apprehension  ? 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it.  Doth  not  my  wit 
become  me  rarely  ? 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough ;  you  should  wear  it 
in  your  cap.  —  By  my  troth,   I  am  sick. 


280  MUCH   ADO  act   hi. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distill" d  carduus  bene- 
dictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart :  it  is  the  only  thing 
for  a  qualm. 

Hero.    There  thou  prick"st  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Bencdictus  !  why  benedictus  I  you  have  some 
moral  in  this  bencdictus. 

Marg.  Moral :  no,  hy  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral 
meaning  ;  I  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may  think, 
perchance,  that  I  think  you  are  in  love :  nay,  by'r 
-lady,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  to  think  what  I  list ;  nor 
I  list  not  to  think  what  I  can  ;  nor,  indeed,  I  can- 
not think,  if  I  would  think  my  heart  out  of  think- 
ing, that  you  are  in  love,  or  that  you  will  be  in 
love,  or  that  you  can  be  in  love.  Yet  Benedick  was 
such  another,  and  now  is  he  become  a  man :  he  swore 
he  would  never  marry  ;  and  yet  now,  in  despite  of 
his  heart,  he  eats  his  meat  without  grudging  :  and 
how  you  may  be  converted,  I  know  not,  but,  me- 
thinks,  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other  women  do. 

Beat.     ^Vhat  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps  ? 

Marg.     Not  a  false  gallop. 

Enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw  :  the  Prince,  the  Count, 
Signior  Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of 
the  town  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg, 
^ood  Ursula.  \_Exeunt. 


o 


Scene    V. 

Another  Room  in  Leoxato's  House. 

Enter  Leoxato,  with   Dogbekuy   and  Verges. 
Leon.     What  would    you  with    me,  honest    neigh- 


bour ? 


sc.   V.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  281 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  I  \\ould  have  some  confidence 
with  you,  that  decerns  you   nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  1  pray  you  ;  for,  you  see,  it  is  a  busy 
time  with  me. 

Dogb.     Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verg.     Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.     What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dogb.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  off 
the  matter  :  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so 
blunt,  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were  ;  but, 
in  faith,  honest  as  the  skin  between  his  brows. 

Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  as  any 
man  living;,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honester 
than  I. 

Dogb.  Comparisons  are  odorous  :  palabras,  neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon.     Neighbours,  you  are   tedious. 

Dogb.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,  but  we 
are  the  poor  Duke's  officers  ;  but,  truly,  for  mine  own 
part,  if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  King,  I  could  find  in 
my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Leon.     All  thy  tediousness  on  me,   ah  ? 

Dogb.  Yea,  an  'twere  a  thousand  times  more  than 
'tis  ;  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your  worship 
as  of  any  man  in  the  city,  and  though  I  be  but  a 
poor  man,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 

Verg.     And  so   am  I. 

Leon.     I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting 
your  worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of  as 
arrant  knaves  as  any  in  Messina. 

Dogb.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  be  talking : 
as  they  say,  when  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out.  God 
help  us  !  it  is  a  -world  to  see  !  —  Well  said,  i'  faith, 
neighbour  Verges  :  — well,  God's  a  good  man  :  an  two 


r2 


282  MUCH    ADO  act  hi. 

men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  must  ride  bcliind.  —  An  hon- 
est soul,  i'  faith,  sir :  by  my  troth  he  is,  as  ever 
broke  bread ;  but,  God  is  to  be  Avorshipp'd  :  all  men 
are  not  alike  ;    alas,  good  neighbour  ! 

Leon.     Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes    too    short  of 
you. 

Dogh.     Gifts,  that  God  gives. 

Leon.      I  must  leave  you. 

Dogh.  One  word,  sir.  Our  watch,  sir,  have,  in- 
deed, comprehended  two  aspicious  persons,  and  we 
would  have  them  this  morning  examined  before  your 
worship. 

Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring 
it  me  :  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  may  appear  unto 
you. 

Dogh.     It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Leon.      Drink    some  wine    ere   you   go.      Fare   you 

well. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your 
daughter  to  her  husband. 

Leon.     I'll  wait  upon  them  :    I  am  ready. 

[^Exeunt  Leonato  aiid  Messenger. 

Dogh.  Go,  good  partner,  go  ;  get  you  to  Francis 
Seacoal ;  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  the 
gaol  :    we  are  now  to  examine  those  men. 

Verg.     And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dogb.  We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  Avarrant  you  ; 
here's  that  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a  '  non-come '  : 
only  get  the  learned  writer  to  set  down  our  excom- 
munication, and  meet  me  at  the  gaol.  [^Exen7U. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  283 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Inside  of  a  Church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  John  the  Bastard,  Leonato, 
Friar,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  Beatrice, 
Guests,   and  Attendants. 

Leonato. 

COME,  Friar  Francis,  be  brief:  only  to  the  plain 
form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their 
particular  duties  afterwards. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this 
lady? 

Claud.    No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her ;  Friar,  you  come  to 
marry  her. 

Friar.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to 
this  Count  ? 

Hero.     I  do. 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impedi- 
ment, why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  chai'ge  you 
on  your  souls  to  utter  it. 

Claud.    Know  you  any.  Hero  ? 

Hero.     None,  my  lord. 

Friar.    Know  you  any.  Count  ? 

Leon.      I  dare  make  his  answer ;    none. 

Claud:  O,  what  men  dare  do  !  what  men  may  do  ! 
what  men  daily  do,   [not  knowing  what  they  do  !] 

Bene.  How  now  !  Interjections  ?  Why  then, 
"  some  be  of  laughing,  as,  ha  !   ha  !   he  !  " 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by.  Friar.  —  Father,  by  your 
leave  : 


284  MUCH    ADO  act   iv. 

Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid,  your  daughter  ? 

Leon.     As  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 
Claud.     And  what  have  I  to  give  you  back,  whose 
worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift  ? 

D.  Pedro.     Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again. 
Claud.      Sweet  Prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thank- 
fulness. — 
There,  Leonato  ;    take  her  back  again  : 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour.  — 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here  : 
O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal  ! 
Comes  not  that  blood,  as  modest  evidence, 
To  witness  simple  virtue  ?     Would  you  not  swear. 
All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid, 
By  these  exterior  shows  ?      But  she  is  none  : 
She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed  ; 
Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 
Leo7i.     What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 
Claud.  Not  to  be  married, 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.     Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof. 
Have  vanquish' d  the  resistance  of  her  youth, 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity,  — 

Claud.      I    know  what   you  would   say  :    if  I   have 
known  her. 
You'll  say,  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband, 
And  so  extenuate  the  "forehand  sin  : 
No,  Leonato, 

I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large  : 
But,  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  shewed 
Bashful  sincerity  and  comely  love. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  285 

Hero.     And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud.      Out    on    thee  !      Seeming !      I    will    write 
against  it : 
You  seem  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb, 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 
But  you  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper"d  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero.    Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide  ? 

Leon.     Sweet  Prince,  why  speak  not  you  ? 

D.  Pedro.  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishonour' d,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.     Are  these  things  spoken,  or  do  I  but  dream? 

John.     Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these   things   are 
true. 

Bene.     This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True?     O  God! 

Claud.    Leonato,  stand  I  here  ? 
Is  this  the   Prince  ?     Is  this  the  Prince's  brother  ? 
Is  this  face  Hero's  ?     Are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leon.     All  this  is  so  ;  but  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.   I^et    me   but   move    one    question    to    your 
daughter. 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.      I  charge  thee  do  [so],  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.     O  God,  defend  me  !  how  am  I  beset !  — 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this  ? 

Claud.  •   To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hero.     Is  it  not  Hero  ?     Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  ? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero  : 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 


286  MUCH    ADO  act  iv. 

Out  at  your  window,  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  arc  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 

Hero.      I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.     Why,  then  are  you  no  maiden.  —  Le- 
onato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear  :    upon  mine  honour, 
.Myself,  my  brother,  and  this  grieved  Count, 
Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night, 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber  window  ; 
Who  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

John.      Fie,  fie  !  they  are  not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord. 
Not  to  be  spoken  of; 

There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language. 
Without  ofi"ence  to  utter  them.     Thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  misgovernment. 

Claud.      O  Hero  !    what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been. 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart  ! 
But,  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair !  farewell, 
Thou  pure  impiety,   and  impious  purity  ! 
For  thee  I'll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 
And  on  my  eye-lids  shall  conjecture   hang. 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm. 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. 

Leon.     Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me  ? 

[Heuo  sicnons. 

Beat.     Why,    how    now,    cousin  !    wherefore    sink 
you  down  ? 

John.     Come,  let  us  go.     These  things,  come  thus 
to  light, 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

l_Exeunt  Don  Pkdijo,  Joiix,  and  Claudio 

Bene.     How  doth  the  lady  ? 


so.   r.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  287 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think  :  —  help,  uncle  !  — 

Hero  !  Avhy,  Hero  !  —  Uncle  !  —  Signior  Benedick  !  — 
Friar  ! 

Leon.      O   Fate  !    take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand  : 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame, 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Hero  ? 

Friar.     Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.     Dost  thou  look  up  ? 

Friar.  Yea  ;    wherefore  should  she  not  r 

Leon.     Wherefore  r     Why,  doth  not  every  earthly 
thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her  ?     Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ?  — 
Do  not  live.  Hero  ;    do  not  ope  thine  eyes  ; 
For  did  I  think  thou  would' st  not  quickly  die, 
Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames. 
Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches. 
Strike  at  thy  life.     Griev'd  I,  I  had  but  one  r 
Chid  I,  for  that,  at  frugal  Nature's  frame  ? 
O,  one  too  much  by  thee  !     Why  had  I  one  ? 
Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes  ? 
Why  had  I  not,  with  charitable  hand. 
Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates ; 
Who  smeared  thus,  and  mir'd  with  infamy,' 
I  might  have  said,  '  No  part  of  it  is  mine  ; 
This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins'  ? 
But  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais'd. 
And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on ;    mine  so  much. 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine. 
Valuing  of  her  ;    why,  she  —  O  !    she  is  fallen 
Into  a  pit  of  ink,  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again, 
And  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  flesh  ! 


288  MUCH   ADO  act   iv. 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient. 

For  my  part,   I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.      O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  ! 

Bene.     Lady,   were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night? 

Beat.     No,  truly  not ;   although,  until  last  night, 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.      Confirm'd,    confirm'd  !     O,  that  is  stronger 
made, 
Which  Avas  before  barr'd  \ip  with  ribs  of  iron  ! 
Would  the  two  Princes  lie?    and  Claudio  lie. 
Who  lov'd  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 
Wash'd  it  with  tears  ?     Hence  !  from  her  ;  let  her  die. 

Friar.     Hear  me  a  little ; 
For  I  have  only  silent  been  so  long. 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 
By  noting  of  the  lady  :    I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions 

To  start  into  her  face ;    a  thousand  innocent  shames. 
In  angel  whiteness,  bear  away  those  blushes  ; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear' d  a  fire. 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  Princes  hold 
Ao-ainst  her  maiden  truth.  —  Call  me  a  fool ; 
Trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observations. 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenor  of  my  book  ;   trust  not  my  age. 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity. 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error. 

Leon.  Friar,  it  cannot  be. 

Thou  secst,  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left. 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury:    she  not  denies  it. 
Why  seek'st  thou,  then,  to  cover  witli  excuse 
Tliat  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness  ? 


sc.   I.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  289 

Friar.     Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of? 

Hero.     They  know,   that    do    accuse   me  :    I    know 
none. 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 
•Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy!  —  O,  my  father! 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  convers'd 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain" d  the  change  of  words  with   any  creature. 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 

Friar.     There    is    some  strange  misprision    in    the 
Princes. 

Bene.     Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this. 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  Bastard, 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villainies. 

Leon.     I    know  not.     If  they  speak   but  truth  of 
her, 
These  hands  shall  tear  her  :    if  they  wrong  her  hon- 
our. 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine. 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention. 
Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means. 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends. 
But  they  shall  find,  awak'd  in  such  a  kind. 
Both  strength  of  limb,  and  policy  of  mind. 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends, 
To  quit  me  of  them  throughly. 

Friar^  "  Pause  a  while. 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter,  here,  the  Princes  left  for  dead  ; 
Let  her  a  while  be  secretly  kept  in, 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is  dead  indeed  : 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation  ; 
VOL.    III.  s 


290  MUCH   ADO  act   iv. 

And  on  your  familj-'s  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial. 

Leon.     What    shall   become    of    this  ?      What   will 
this  do  ? 

Friar.     Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her  be- 
half 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ;    that  is  some  good  : 
But  not  for  that  dream  I  on  this    strange  course, 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain" d, 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd, 
Shall  be  lamented,  pitied,  and  excus'd 
Of  every  hearer ;    for  it  so  falls  out. 
That  what  we   have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth. 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack  the  value  ;    then  we  find 
The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us. 
Whiles  it  was  ours.  —  So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio  : 
When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 
Th'  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination. 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit. 
More  moving,  delicate,  and  full  of  life. 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed  :  — then  shall  he  mourn, 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver,) 
And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her  ; 
No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in   likelihood. 
But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false, 
The  supposition  of  the  lady's   death 


sc.   I.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  291 

Will   quencli  the  wonder  of  her  infamy ; 

And,  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her. 

As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation, 

In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life, 

Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds,  and  injuries. 

Bene.     Signior  Leonato,  let  the  Friar   advise   you  : 
And  though  you  know  my  inwardness   and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  Prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly  and  justly  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leon.  Being  that  I  flow  in  grief. 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar.     'Tis  well  consented ;    presently  away, 
For    to    strange    sores  strangely  they  strain    the 
cure.  — 
Come,  lady,   die  to  live :    this  wedding  day. 

Perhaps,  is    but    prolong'd  :    have  patience,  and 
endure. 

\_Exeunt  Friar,  Hero,  and  Leoxato. 

Bene.     Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  ? 

Beat.     Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while   longer. 

Bene.     I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.     You  have  no  reason  ;    I  do  it  freely. 

Bene.     Surely,  I    do    believe    your    fair    cousin    is 
wrong' d. 

Beat.     Ah,  how  much   might   the  man  deserve  of 
me  that  would  right  her  ! 

Bene.     Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship  ? 

Beat.  .  A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Bene.     May  a  man  do   it  ? 

Beat.     It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 

Bene.     I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as 
you.     Is  not  that  strange  ? 

Beat.     As    strange    as    the    thing  I  know  not.     It 


292  MUCH   ADO  act   iv. 

were  as  possible  for  me  to  say,  I  loved  nothing  so 
well  as  you ;  but  believe  me  not,  and  yet  I  lie  not : 
I  confess  nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing.  —  I  am  sorry 
for  my  cousin. 

Bene.     By  my  sword,  Beatrice,   thou   lov'st   me. 

Beat.     Do  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it  that  you  love  mc  ;  and 
I  will  make  him  cat  it,  that  says   I  love  not   you. 

Beat.     Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ? 

Bene.  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it. 
I  protest  I  love  thee. 

Beat.     Why  then,  God  forgive  me !    ' 

Bene.     What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice  r 

Beat.  You  have  stayed  me  in  a  happy  hour :  1 
was  about  to  protest  I  loved  you. 

Bene.     And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  tliut 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.     Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee. 

Beat.     Kill  Claudio. 

Bene.     Ha  !    not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.     You  kill  me  to  deny.      Farewell. 

Bene.     Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  I  am  here  :  —  there  is 
no  love  in  you.  —  Nay,   I  pray  you,  let  me   go. 

Bene.     Beatrice,  — 

Beat.     In  faith,  I  wdll  go. 

Bene.     We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me  than 
fight  with  mine  enemy. 

Bene.     Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kins- 
woman ?  —  O,  that  I  were  a  man  !  —  What !  bear  her 
in  hiind  until  they  come  to  take  hands,  and  tlu'u  with 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  293 

public  accusation,  uncovered  slander,  unmitigated  ran- 
cour, —  O  God,  that  I  were  a  man  !  I  would  cat  his 
heart  in  the  market-place. 

Bene.     Hear  me,   Beatrice  — 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window  1  —  a 
proper  saying. 

Bene.     Nay,  but  Beatrice  — 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero  !  —  she  is  wrong'd,  she  is  .slan- 
dered, she  is  undone. 

Bene.     Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  Counties !  Surely,  a  princely 
testimony,  a  goodly  count  —  confect ;  a  sweet  gallant, 
surely  !  O,  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake !  or  that 
I  had  any  friend  would  be  a  man  for  my  sake !  But 
manhood  is  melted  into  court'sies,  valour  into  com- 
pliment, and  men  are  only  turned  into  tongue,  and 
trim  ones  too  :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercules  that 
only  tells  a  lie  and  swears  it.  —  I  cannot  be  a  man 
with  wishing,  therefore  I  will  die  a  woman  with 
grievinnr. 

Be7ie.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice.  By  this  hand,  I  love 
thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than 
swearing  by  it. 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  Count  Claudio 
hath  wrong'd  Hero  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a 
soul. 

Bene.  Enough  I  I  am  engaged,  I  will  challenge 
him.  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I  leave  you. 
By  this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  ac- 
count. As  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go, 
comfort  your  cousin  :  I  must  say  she  is  dead  ;  and 
so,  farewell.  [_Exeunt. 


294  MUCH   ADO  act   iv. 

Scene  II. 

A  Prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and   Sexton,   in  gowns; 
and  the  Watch,  with  Conbade   and  Bokachio. 

Dogh.     Is  our  whole  dissembly  appear"d  ? 

Verg.      O  !    a   stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  Sexton. 

Sexton.     Which  be  the  malefactors? 

Dogh.     Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that's  certain  :  we  have  the  exhibition 
to  examine. 

Sexton.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to 
be  examined  ?  let  them  come  before  ^Master  Con- 
stable. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me. — 
What  is  your  name,  friend  ? 

Bora.     Borachio. 

Dogh.  Pray  write  down  '  Borachio.' — Yours,  sir- 
rah ? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Con- 
rad e. 

Dogh.  Write  down  'Master  gentleman  Conrade.'  — 
Masters,  do  you  serve  God  ? 

\_Con.   Bora.      Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Dogh.  Write  down  that  '  they  hope  they  serve  God  ' : 
—  and  write  '  God '  first ;  for  God  defend  but  God 
should  go  before  such  villains!]  —  Masters,  it  is  proved 
already  that  you  are  little  better  than  false  knaves, 
and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly.  How 
answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.      Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dogh.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you ; 
but  I  will    go  about  with  him.  —  Come  you    hither. 


sc.   II.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  295 

sirrah  ;  a  word  in  your  ear,  sir  :  I  say  to  you,  it  is 
thought  you  are  false  knaves. 

Bora.     Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 

Dogh.  Well,  stand  aside.  —  'Fore  God,  they  are 
both  in  a  tale.  Have  you  writ  down,  that  they  are 
none  ? 

Sexton.  Master  Constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to 
examine  :  you  must  call  forth  the  Watch  that  are 
their  accusers. 

Dogh.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way  :  —  Let 
the  Watch  come  forth.  —  Masters,  I  charge  you,  in 
the  Prince's  name,  accuse  these  men. 

1  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
Prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogh.  Write  down  '  Prince  John  a  villain.'  Why, 
this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother,  vil- 
lain. ^ 

Bora.     Master  Constable  — 

Dogh.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace  :  I  do  not  like  thy 
look,  I  promise  thee. 

Sexton.     What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

2  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thousand 
ducats  of  Don  John,  for  accusing  the  lady  Hero 
wrongfully. 

Dogh.     Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 
Verg.     Yea,  by  th'  mass,  that  it  is. 
Sexton.     What  else,  fellow  ? 

1  Watch.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean, 
upon  his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole 
assembly,  .and  not  marry  her. 

Dogh.     O  villain !    thou    wilt    be    condemn'd    into 
everlasting  redemption  for  this. 
Sexton.     What  else  ? 

2  Watch.     This  is  all. 

Sexton.      A.nd  this  is  more.  Masters,  than  you  can 


296  MUCH   ADO  act   it. 

deny.  Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stol'n 
away  :  Hero  was  in  this  manner  accus'd,  in  this 
very  manner  refus'd,  and,  upon  the  grief  of  this, 
suddenly  died.  Master  Constable,  let  these  men  be 
bound,  and  brought  to  Lconato  :  I  will  go  before, 
and  show  him  their  examination.  [_Exit. 

Dogb.     Come,  let  them  be  opinion'd. 

Con.     Let  them  be,  in  the  hands  of  coxcomb. 

Dogb.  God's  my  life !  where's  the  Sexton  ?  let 
him  write  down  the  Prince's  officer,  coxcomb.  — 
Come,  bind  them.  —  Thou  naughty  varlet  ! 

Con.     Away  !  you  are  an  ass  ;    you  are  an  ass. 

Dogb.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  ?  Dost 
thou  not  suspect  my  years  ?  —  O,  that  he  were  here 
to  write  me  down,  an  ass  !  —  But,  masters,  remem- 
ber, that  I  am  an  ass  ;  though  it  be  not  written  down, 
yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass.  —  No,  thou  villain, 
thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  prov'd  upon  thee 
by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow ;  and,  which 
is  more,  an  officer  ;  and,  which  is  more,  a  household- 
er ;  and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as 
any  in  Messina  ;  and  one  that  knows  the  law,  go 
to  ;  and  a  rich  fellow  enough,  go  to  ;  and  a  fellow 
that  hath  had  losses  ;  and  one  that  hath  two  gowns, 
and  every  thing  handsome  about  him.  Bring  him 
away.     O,  that  I  had  been  writ  down,  an  ass  ! 

\  Exeunt. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  297 

ACT    V. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Antonio. 

IF  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel. 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve.      Give  not  me  counsel  ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear. 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  Avith  mine : 
Bring  me  a  father  that  so  lov'd  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelm' d  like  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 
Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain ; 
As  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  such, 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard. 
And,  sorrow's  wag,  cry  hem,  when  he  should  groan, 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  misfortune  drunk 
With  candle-wasters  ;    bring  him  yet  to  me, 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
But  the^e  is  no  such  man ;    for,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel  ;    but,  tasting  it. 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage, 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread, 
s2 


298  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Charm  ache  with  air,  and  agony  with  words. 

No,  no ;   'tis  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 

To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow. 

But  no  man's  virtue,  nor  sufficiency. 

To  be  so  moral  when  he   shall   endure 

The  like  himself.     Therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. 

Ant.     Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Leon.     I    pray  thee,  peace  !     I  will    be    flesh    and 
blood  ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  tooth-ache  patiently. 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods, 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.     Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm    upon    yourself; 
Make  those  that  do  offend  you  suffer  too. 

Leon.     There    thou   speak' st    reason  :    nay,    I    will 
do  so. 
My  soul  doth  tell  me  Hero  is  belied. 
And  that  shall  Claudio  know  ;    so  shall  the  Prince, 
And  all  of  them  that  thus  disho-nour  her. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

Ant.     Here  comes  the  Prince  and  Claudio,  hastily. 

D.  Pedro.     Good  den,  good  den. 

Claud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.     Hear  you,  my  lords,  — 

D.  Pedro.  We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.     Some  haste,  my  lord  !  —  well,  fare  you  well, 
my  lord :  — 
Arc  you  so  hasty  now  ?  —  well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro.     Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old 
man. 

Ant.     If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling, 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 


sc. 


ABOUT   NOTHING.  299 


Claud.  Who  wrongs  him? 

Leon.     Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me  ;  thou,  dissem- 
bler, thou. — 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword  ; 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear. 
In  faith,  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.     Tush,  tush,  man  !    never  fleer  and   jest    at 
me  ; 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool  ; 
As,  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do, 
Were  I  not  old.     Know,  Claudio,  to   thy  head. 
Thou  hast  so  wrong" d  mine  innocent  child  and  me, 
That  I   am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by, 
And  with  gray  hairs  and  bruise  of  many  days. 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child : 
Thy    slander    hath    gone    through    and    through    her 

heart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors, 
O  !  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
Save  this  of  hers,  fram'd  by  thy  villainy. 

Claud.     My  villainy? 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio  ;    thine,  I  say. 

D.  Pedro.     You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I'll  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare. 
Despite  his  nice  fence,  and  his  active  practice, 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustihood. 

Claud.     Away  !     I  will  not  have  to   do  with  you. 

Leon.      Canst  thou  so  daff"  me?     Thou  hast  kill'd 
my  child : 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man. 


300  MUCH   ADO  act  t. 

A?it.     He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  : 
But  that's  no  matter ;    let  him  kill  one  first  :  — 
Win  me  and  wear  me; — let  him  answer  me. — 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  !    come,   sir  boy,  come,  follow 

me. 
Sir  boy,  I'll  whip  you  from  your  foiniug  fence  ; 
Nay,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 

Leon.     Brother  — 

A7it.     Content    yourself.      God    knows   I  lov'd    my 
niece  ; 
And  she  is  dead  ;    slander'd  to  death  by  villains. 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed. 
As  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue. 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops ! 

Leo7i.  Brother  Antony  — 

Ant.     Hold    you    content.     What,   man  !     I   know 
them,  yea. 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to   the   utmost   scruple  : 
Scambling,  out-facing,  fashion-mong'ring  boys, 
That  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  and  show  outward  hideousness. 
And  speak  off"  half  a  dozen  dang"rous  Avords, 
How  they  might  hurt  their  enemies  —  if  they  durst ; 
And  this  is  all ! 

Leon.     But,  brother  Antony  — 

j[nt.  Come,  'tis  no  matter : 

Do  not  you  meddle ;    let  me  deal  in  this. 

D.  Pedro.     Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake  your 
patience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death ; 
But,  on   mine    honour,    she  was    charg'd   with    noth- 
ing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 
Leon.     My  lord,  my  lord  !  — 
D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  you. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  301 

Enter  Benedick. 

Leon.  No  ? 

Come,  brother,  away.  —  I  will  be  heard.  — 

Ant.  And  shall,  or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 
\_Exeu7it  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.  See,  see :  here  comes  the  man  we  went 
to  seek. 

Claud.     Now,  Signior,  what  news  ? 

Bene.     Good  day,  my  lord. 

D.  Fedro.  Welcome,  Signior  :  you  are  almost  come 
to  part  almost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses 
snapp'd  off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother.  What  think'st 
thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt,  we  should  have  been 
too  young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour. 
I  came  to  seek  you   both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee  ; 
for  we  are  high-proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain  have 
it  beaten  away.     Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit? 

Bene.     It  is  in  my  scabbard  :    shall  I  draw  it  ? 

D.  Pedro.     Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  r 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many  have 
been  beside  their  wit.  —  I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we 
do  the  minstrels ;    draw  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale. — 
Art  thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

Claud.-  What  !  courage,  man  !  What  though  care 
kill'd  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill 
care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career, 
an  you  charge  it  against  me.  —  I  pray  you,  choose 
another  subject. 


302  MUCH   ADO  act  V. 

Claud.  Nay  then,  give  him  another  stafF:  this  last 
was  broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and 
more.      I  think  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claud.     If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle. 

Bene.     Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.     God  bless  me  from  a  challenge ! 

Bene.  You  are  a  villain.  —  I  jest  not :  —  I  will 
make  it  good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and 
when  you  dare.  —  Do  me  right,  or  I  will  protest  your 
cowardice.  You  have  kill'd  a  sweet  lady,  and  her 
death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you.  Let  me  hear  from 
you. 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have  good 
cheer. 

D.  Pedro.     What,  a  feast  ?    a  feast  ? 

Claud.  T  faith,  I  thank  him ;  he  hath  bid  me  to 
a  calf's-head  and  a  capon,  the  which  if  I  do  not  carve 
most  curiously,  say  my  knife's  naught.  —  Shall  I  not 
find  a  woodcock   too  ? 

Bene.      Sir,  yovir  wit  ambles  well  :    it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  prais'd  thy 
wit  the  other  day.  I  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit : 
"True,"  said  she,  "a  fine  little  one:"  "No,"  said 
I,  "  a  great  wit  :  "  "  Right,"  says  she,  "  a  great  gross 
one:"  "Nay,"  said  I,  "a  good  wit:"  "Just,"  said 
she,  "  it  hurts  nobody  :  "  "  Nay,"  said  I,  "  the  gentle- 
man is  wise  :  "  "  Certain,"  said  she,  "  a  wise  gentle- 
man :  "  "  Nay,"  said  I,  "  he  hath  the  tongues  :  " 
"  That  I  believe,"  said  she,  "  for  he  swore  a  thing  to 
me  on  Monday  night,  which  he  forswore  on  Tues- 
day morning  :  there's  a  double  tongue  ;  there's  two 
tongues."  Thus  did  she,  an  hour  together,  trans- 
shape  thy  particular  virtues ;  yet  at  last  she  con- 
cluded with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  prop'rcst  man  in 
Italy. 


sc.   I.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  303 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and  said 
she  car'd  not. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  that  she  did ;  but  yet,  for  all  that, 
an  if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love 
him  dearly.     The  old  mans  daughter  told  us  all. 

Claud.  All,  all  ;  and  moreover,  God  saw  him  when 
he  was  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull's 
horns  on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath,  "  Here  dwells 
Benedick  the  married  man!" 

Bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy:  you  know  my  mind. 
I  will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour  : 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which, 
God  be  thanked,  hurt  not.  —  My  lord,  for  your  many 
courtesies  I  thank  you  :  I  must  discontinue  your 
company.  Your  brother,  the  Bastard,  is  fled  from 
Messina:  you  have,  among  you,  kill'd  a  sweet  and 
innocent  lady.  For  my  Lord  Lack-beard,  there,  he 
and  I  shall  meet ;    and  till  then,  peace  be  with  him. 

\_Exit  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.     He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest ;  and,  Fll  war- 
rant you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.     And  hath  challcng'd  thee  r 

Claud.     Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is  when  he 
goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit  ! 

Enter    D^ogbekky,    Verges,    and    the    Watch,    with 
CoNKADE  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape :  but  then 
is  an  ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

B.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you  ;  let  me  be:  pluck  up, 
my  heart,  and  be  sad  !  Did  he  not  say  my  brother 
was  fled  ? 


304  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Dogh.  Come,  you,  sir :  if  Justice  cannot  tame  you, 
she  shall  ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  balance. 
Nay,  an  you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once,  you  must 
be  look'd  to. 

D.  Pedro.  How  now !  two  of  my  brother's  men 
bound  ?      Borachio  one  ? 

Claud.     Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men 
done  ? 

Dogh.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  re- 
port ;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ;  second- 
arily, they  are  slanders  ;  sixth  and  lastly,  they  have 
belied  a  lady  ;  thirdly,  they  have  verified  unjust 
things  ;    and,  to  conclude,  they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done  ? 
thirdly,  I  ask  thee  what's  their  offence  ?  sixth  and 
lastly,  why  they  are  committed  ?  and,  to  conclude, 
what  you  lay  to  their  charge  ? 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well  suited. 

D.  Pedro.  Whom  have  you  offended,  masters,  that 
you  are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  ?  this  learned  con- 
stable is  too  cunning  to  be  understood.  What's  youi 
offence  ? 

Bora.  Sweet  Prince,  let  me  go  no  farther  to  mine 
answer :  do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  Count  kill  me. 
I  have  deceived  even  your  very  eyes  :  what  your  wis- 
doms could  not  discover,  these  shallow  fools  have 
brought  to  light,  who,  in  the  night,  overheard  me 
confessing  to  this  man  how  Don  John,  your  brother, 
incensed  me  to  slander  the  Lady  Hero ;  how  you 
were  brought  into  the  orchard,  and  saw  me  court  Mar- 
garet in  Hero's  garments ;  how  you  disgrac'd  her, 
when  you  should  marry  her.  My  villainy  they  have 
upon  record,  which  I  had  rather  seal  with  my  death 


sc.   I.  ABOUT  NOTHING.  305 

than  repeat  over  to  my  shame.  The  lady  is  dead  upon 
mine  and  my  master's  false  accusation ;  and,  briefly, 
I  desire  nothing  but  the  reward  of  a  villain. 

D.  Pedro.     Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through 
your  blood? 

Claud.     I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it. 

D.  Pedro.     But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  ? 

Bora.  Yea ;  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice 
of  it. 

D.  Pedro.     He  is  compos" d  and  fram'd  of  treach- 
ery.— 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villainy. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  !  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  lov'd  it  first. 

Dogi.  Come ;  bring  away  the  plaintiff's  :  by  this 
time  our  Sexton  hath  reformed  Signior  Leonato  of 
the  matter.  And,  Masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  place  shall   serve,  that  I  am   an   ass. 

Verg.  Here,  here  comes  Master  Signior  Leonato, 
and  the  Sexton  too. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,   and  the  Sexton. 
Leon.     Which  is  the  villain  ?     Let  me  see  his  eyes, 
That  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him.     Which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bora.     If    you    would    know    your    wronger,    look 

on  me. 
Leon.     Art    thou    the    slave    that  with    thy  breath 
hast  kiird 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.     No,  not  so,  villain;   thou  beliest  thyself: 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men, 
A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it.  — 
I  thank  you,   Princes,  for  my  daughter's  death  : 

VOL.    III.  T 


306  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds. 
'Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claud.     I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience, 
Yet  I  must  speak.      Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  :    yet  sinn'd  I  not. 
But  in   mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I  ; 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leo7i.     I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live  ; 
That  were  impossible ;   but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess  the  people  in  Messina,  here, 
How  innocent  she  died :    and,  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb. 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones  :    sing  it  to-night.  — 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house. 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son-in-law. 
Be  yet  my  nephew.      My  brother  hath  a  daughter, 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead. 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us  : 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  giv'n  her  cousin, 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O  !   noble  sir. 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me. 
I  do  embrace  your  offer  ;  —  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.    To-morrow,  then,  I  will  expect  your  coming  : 
To-night  I  take  my  leave.  —  This  naughty  man 
iShall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pack'd  in  all   this  wrong, 
Hir'd  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not ; 


sc.   I.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  307 

Nor    knew    not    what    she    did    when    she    spoke    to 

me ; 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous, 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Dogb.  Moreover,  sir,  which,  indeed,  is  not  under 
white  and  black,  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did 
call  me  ass :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remember' d  in 
his  punishment.  And  also,  the  Watch  heard  them 
talk  of  one  Deformed :  they  say  he  wears  a  key  in 
his  ear,  and  a  lock  hanging  by  it,  and  borrows  money 
in  God's  name  ;  the  which  he  hath  us'd  so  long,  and 
never  paid,  that  now  men  grow  hard-hearted,  and  will 
lend  nothing  for  God's  sake.  Pray  you  examine  him 
upon  that  point. 

Leon.     I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dogb.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful 
and  reverend  youth  ;    and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.     There's  for  thy  pains. 

Dogb.     God  save  the  foundation  ! 

Leon.  Go  :  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and 
I  thank  thee. 

Dogb.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship ; 
which  I  beseech  your  worship  to  correct  yourself,  for 
the  example  of  others.  God  keep  your  worship  ;  I 
wish  your  worship  well :  God  restore  you  to  health. 
I  humbly  give  you  leave  to  depart,  and  if  a  merry 
meeting  may  be  wish'd,  God  prohibit  it.  —  Come, 
neighbour. 

{^Exeunt  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Watch. 

Leon.-    Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

Ant.     Farewell,  my   lords  :    we   look    for    you    to- 
morrow. 

D.  Pedro.     We  will  not  fail. 

Claud.  To-night  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 

[_Exeunt  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 


308  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Leon.     Bring  you  these  fellows  on  ;   we'll  talk  with 
Margaret, 
How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd  fellow. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene  II. 
Leonato's  Garden. 

Enter  Benedick  and  Margaret,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet  Mistress  Margaret,  deserve 
well  at  my  hands  by  helping  me  to  the  speech  of 
Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you,  then,  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise 
of  my  beauty  ? 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely  truth, 
thou  deservest  it. 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  ?  why,  shall 
I  always  keep  below  stairs  ? 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's 
mouth ;    it  catches. 

Marg.  And  yours  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils, 
which  hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret ;  it  will  not 
hurt  a  woman :  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice. 
I  give  thee  the  bucklers. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  swords,  we  have  bucklers  of 
our  own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put 
in  the  pikes  with  a  vice ;  and  they  are  dangerous 
weapons  for  maids. 

Marg.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who,  I 
think,  hath  legs.  [_Exit  Margaret. 

Bene.     And  therefore  will  come. 


sc.   II.  ABOUT    XOTHIXG.  309 

The  god  of  love,  [Singing.] 

That  sits  above. 
And  knows  me,  and  knows  me. 
How  pitiful  I  deserve,  — 

I  mean  in  singing ;  but  in  loving,  Leander  the  good 
swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and 
a  whole  book  full  of  these  quondam  carpet-mongers, 
whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road  of 
a  blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never  so  truly  turned 
over  and  over  as  my  poor  self,  in  love.  Marry,  I 
cannot  show  it  in  rhyme  ;  I  have  tried  :  I  can  find 
out  no  rhyme  to  '  lady '  but  '  baby,'  an  innocent 
rhyme  ;  for  '  scorn,'  '  horn,'  a  hard  rhyme  ;  for 
'  school,'  '  fool,'  a  babbling  rhyme  —  very  ominous 
endings.  No,  I  was  not  born  under  a  rhyming  planet, 
for  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms.  — 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  would" st  thou  come  when  I  call'd 
thee? 

Beat.    Yea,  Signior  ;    and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Bene.     O,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

Beat.  '  Then '  is  spoken  ;  fare  you  well  now  :  — 
and  yet,  ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  [for]  ; 
which  is,  with  knowing  what  hath  pass'd  between 
you  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  Only  foul  words  ;  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss 
thee. 

Beat.  •  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind 
is  but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome  ;  there- 
fore I  will  depart  unkiss'd. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  rig-ht 
sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit.  But,  I  must  tell  thee 
plainly,  Claudio  undergoes  my  challenge ;    and  either 


310  MUCH   ADO  act  t. 

I  must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  I  will  subscribe 
him  a  coward.  And,  I  pray  thee  now,  tell  me  for 
which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first  fall  iu  love 
Avith  me  ? 

Beat.  For  them  altogether;  which  maintain'd  so 
politic  a  state  of  evil  that  they  will  not  admit  any 
good  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for  which 
of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  sufi"er  love  for  me? 

Bene.  "  Sufi"er  love  "  !  a  good  epithet.  I  do  suf- 
fer love,  indeed;    for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think.  Alas,  poor 
heart !  If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it 
for  yours  ;  for  I  will  never  love  that  which  my  friend 
hates. 

Bene.     Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession ;  there's 
not  one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise 
himself. 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  liv'd 
in  the  time  of  good  neighbours.  If  a  man  do  not 
erect,  in  this  age,  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he 
shall  live  no  longer  in  monument  than  the  bell  rings 
and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beat.     And  how  long  is  that,  think  you? 

Bene.  Question  :  —  why,  an  hour  in  clamour,  and 
a  quarter  in  rheum  :  therefore  is  it  most  expedient 
for  the  wise  (if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find  no 
impediment  to  the  contrary)  to  be  the  trumpet  of 
his  own  virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself.  So  much  for 
praising  myself,  who,  I  myself  will  bear  witness,  is 
praiseworthy.       And    now    tell    me,    how    doth    your 


cousin  ? 

Beat. 

Very  ill. 

Bene. 

And  how  do   you  ? 

Beat. 

Very  ill    too. 

sc.    III.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  311 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  me,  and  mend.  There  will 
I  leave  you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle.  Yon- 
der's  old  coil  at  home  :  it  is  proved,  my  Lady  Hero 
hath  been  falsely  accus'd,  the  Prince  and  Claudio 
mightily  abus'd ;  and  Don  John  is  the  author  of  all, 
who  is  fled  and  gone.     Will  you  come  presently  ? 

Beat.     Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  Signior  ? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and 
be  buried  in  thy  eyes  ;  and,  moreover,  I  will  go  with 
thee  to  thy  uncle's.  l_Exeunt. 

Scene  III. 

The  Inside  of  a  Church. 

Enter   Don   Pedro,  Claudio,  and   Attendants,  with 
music  and  tapers. 

Claud.     Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  ? 
Atten.     It  is,  my  lord. 
Claud.     [_Reads.^ 

Epitaph. 
Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies  : 
Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  torongs. 

Gives  her  fame  which  7iever  dies. 
So  the  life,  that  died  with  shame. 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 

Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb, 
Praising  her  when  I  am  dumb.  — 

Now,  music,   sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 


312  MUCH   ADO  A.CX  V. 

Song. 

Pardon,  goddess  of  the  night. 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight ; 
For  the  which,  toith  songs  of  woe. 
Round  ahout  her  tomb  they  go. 

Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 

Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan. 
Heavily,  heavily : 

Graves,  yawn,  and  yield  your  dead. 

Till  death  be  uttered. 
Heavenly,  heavenly. 

Claud.     Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night  ! 

Yearly  will  I   do  this  rite. 
D.  Pedro.    Good  morrow,  Masters  :  put  your  torches 
out. 
The  wolves  have  prey'd  ;  and  look,  the  gentle  day, 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phcebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  East  with  spots  of  gray. 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us  :    fare  you  well. 
Claud.   Good  morrow.  Masters  :  each  his  several  way. 
D.  Pedro.     Come,  let   us  hence,  and  put  on  other 
weeds  ; 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go. 

Claud.     And  Hymen  now  with  luckier  issue  speeds 
Than  this,  for  whom  we  render' d  up  this  woe  ! 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. 

A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice, 
Margaret,  Ursula,   Friar,  and  Hkro. 
Friar.     Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent  ? 
Leon.   So  are  the  Prince  and  Claudio,  who  accus'd  her 


sc.   IT.  ABOUT    NOTHING.  313 

Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this, 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

Ant.     Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 
Bene.     And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforc'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

Leon.     Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all, 
Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves, 
And,  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd  : 
The  Prince  and  Claudio  promis'd  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me.  —  You  know  your  office,  brother  ; 
You  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter. 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.  \_Exeunt  Ladies. 

Ant.     Which  I  will  do  with  confirm' d  countenance. 
Bene.      Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 
Friar.     To   do  what,  Signior  ? 
Bene.     To  bind  me,  or  undo  me  ;   one  of  them.  — 
Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  Signior, 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leon.     That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  :    'tis  most 

true. 
Bene.     And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 
Leon.     The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had   from 
me. 
From    Claudio,    and    the    Prince.      But   what's    your 
will  ? 
Bene.     Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical : 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  startd  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin' d 
In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage  :  — 
In  which,  good  Friar,  I   shall  desire  your  help. 
Leon.     My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 
Friar.  An  J  my  help. 

[Here  comes  the  Prince,  and  Claudio.] 


314  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Clattdio,  with  Attendants. 

D.  Pedro.     Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

Leon.     Good  morrow,  Prince  ;    good  morrow,  Clau- 
dio  : 
We  here  attend  you.     Are  you  yet  determined 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter  ? 

Claud.     I'll  hold  my  mind  were  she  an  Ethiop. 

Leon.     Call   her    forth,   brother :    here's    the   Friar 
ready.  \_Exit  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.     Good  morrow,  Benedick.     Why,  what's 
the  matter. 
That  you  have  such  a  February  face. 
So  full  of  fi'ost,  of  storm,   and  cloudiness  ? 

Claud.      I  think  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull.  — 
Tush  !    fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with   gold. 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee. 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.     Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ; 
And    some    such    strange     bull    leap'd    your    father's 

cow, 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Enter  Antonio,  with  the  Ladies,  masked. 

Claud.     For  this  I  owe  you  :  here  come  other  reck- 
onings. 
Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize   upon  ? 

Leon.     This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you   her. 
Claud.     Why,  then    she's    mine.  —  Sweet,   let    me 

see  your  face. 
Leon.     No,  that  you  shall  not,  till   you    take    her 
hand 
Before  this  Friar,  and  swear  to    marry  her. 


sc.   IV.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  315 

Claud.     Give  me  your  hand  before  this  holy  Friar  : 
I  am.  your  husband  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.     And  when  I  liv'd,  I  was  your  other  wife  : 

[  Unmasking. 
And  when  you  lov'd,  you  were  my  other  husband. 
Claud.     Another  Hero  ? 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer. 

One  Hero  died  [defil'd]  ;    but  I  do  live, 
And,  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 

D.  Pedro.     The  former  Hero  !     Hero  that  is  dead ! 
Leon.     She  died,   my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander 

liv'd. 
Friar.     All  this   amazement  can  I   qualify  ; 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are   ended, 
I'll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's   death : 
Mean  time,  let  wonder  seem  familiar, 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.    Soft  and  fair.   Friar.  —  Which  is  Beatrice  ? 
Beat.     I  answer  to  that  name.    \_Unmasking .'^    What 

is  your  will  ? 
Bene.     Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Beat.  Why,  no  ;   no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.     Why,  then,  your  uncle,  and  the  Prince,  and 
Claudio, 
Have  been  deceived  :    [for]  they  swore  you  did. 
Beat.     Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  no  ;    no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.     Why,  then,  my  cousin,  Margaret,  and  Ur- 
sula, 
Are  much  deceiv'd  ;    for  they  did  swear  you  did. 
Bene.    They  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick   for 

me. 
Beat.     They  swore   that  you  were  well-nigh  dead 

for  me. 
Bene.     'Tis  no    such    matter. — Then,  you   do    not 
love  me  ? 


316  MUCH   ADO  act  v. 

Beat.     No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.     Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  gen- 
tleman. 

Claud.     And    I'll  be  sworn  upon  't  that   he    loves 
her  ; 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here's  another. 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stol'n  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  aifection  unto   Benedick. 

Bene.  A  miracle  !  here's  our  own  hands  against 
our  hearts.  —  Come,  I  will  have  thee ;  but,  by  this 
light,   I  take  thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you  ;  —  but,  by  this  good 
day,  I  yield  upon  great  persuasion,  and,  partly,  to 
save  your  life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  con- 
sumption. 

Bene.     Peace  !   I  will  stop  your  mouth." 

D.  Pedro.     How  dost  thou.  Benedick,  the  married 
man  r 

Bene.  I'll  tell  thee  what.  Prince  ;  a  college  of  wit- 
crackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour.  Dost 
thou  think  I  care  for  a  satire,  or  an  epigram  ?  No  : 
if  a  man  will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  shall  wear 
nothing  handsome  about  him.  In  brief,  since  I  do 
purpose  to  marry,  I  will  think  nothing  to  any  pur- 
pose that  the  world  can  say  against  it ;  and  there- 
fore never  flout  at  me  for  [what]  I  have  said  against 
it  ;  for  man  is  a  giddy  thing,  and  this  is  my  con- 
clusion. —  For  thy  part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to  have 
beaten  thee  ;  but,  in  that  thou  art  like  to  be  my  kins- 
man, live  unbruis'd,   and  love  my  cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hop'd  thou  would'st  have  de- 
nied Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgell'd   thee    out 


sc.   IV.  ABOUT   NOTHING.  317 

of  thy  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer ; 
which.,  out  of  question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin 
do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends.  —  Let's  have 
a  dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  our 
own  hearts,  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leon.     We'll  have  dancing  afterward. 

Bene.  First,  of  my  word ;  therefore,  play,  music ! 
—  Prince,  thou  art  sad ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a 
wife  :  there  is  no  staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipp'd 
with  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight. 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow  :  I'll  devise 
thee  brave  punishments  for  him.  —  Strike  up,  pipers. 

\_Dance.  —  Exeunt. 


NOTES  ON  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT 
NOTHING. 


ACT    FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

i  p.  229.     "  Enter  Leonato  "  :  —  Here  the  stage  direction  in  folio 

I  and  quarto  is,  "Enter  Leonato   Gouernour  of  Messina, 

i  Innogen  his  loife,"  &c.  ;  and   at  the  commencement  of 

the  next  Act,    "  Enter  Leonato,  liis  brother,  his  wife," 
&c.  ;  but  as  Imogen  neither  speaks  nor  is  spoken  to,  and, 
(as  Mr.  Dyce  has  well  obser\-ed,)  could  not  remain  upon 
•  the  stage  dumb  at  the  interrupted  nuptial  of  her  daugh- 

ter, and  as  she  is  not  in  any  way  alluded  to,  it  is  plam 
that  she  has  no  place  among  the  Dramatis  Personae.  The 
name  is  probably  a  transcript  from  the  first  draft  of  the 
play,  in  making  which  the  author  had  a  plan  which  he 
afterward  abandoned. 

"  " Don   Pedro  of  Arragon  "  :  —  "Don  Peter"  in 


both  folio  and  quarto,  here  and  immediately  after  ;  but  in 
the  next  stage  direction,  and  afterward,  "Don  Pedro" 

230.     " Signior  Montanto  "  ;  —  Beatrice   speaks   of  the 

soldier  who  dwells  so  much  in  her  thoughts,  by  a  term  of 
the  fencing  school. 

of  any  sort  "  ;  —  Plainly,  none  '  of  any  kind ; ' 


but  Warburton  and  Mr.  Dyce  would  have  it,  '  of  any 
quality,'  '  of  any  rank  '  —  meaning  '  high  quality,'  '  high 
rank.'  But  '  sort,'  unless  used  absolutely,  without  qual- 
ification of  degree  or  merit,  as  we  sometimes  use  '  charac- 
ter '  to  mean  '  good  character,'  cannot  be  thus  arbitrarily 
raised  from  its  inferior  and  general  sense  to  one  higher 
and  particular  ;  and  no  instance  of  such  a  use  has  been 
quoted.  Throughout  Shakespeare's  works  and  those  of 
his  contemporaries  it  is  used  to  mean  class  and  condi- 
tion, of  all  sorts ;  for  instance,  "  The  other  sorte  be  even 

(319) 


320    MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.   ACT  i. 


Seruingmen."  A  brief e  Conceipte  of  English  PolUcij.  ito. 
1598.    fol.  336.     See  Shakespeare's  Scholar,  p.  166. 

230.  "  He  set  vp  his  bills  here  "  :  — Posting  small  placards, 
was,  ill  Shakespeare's  day,  the  only  mode  of  making  mat- 
ters public,  except  proclaiming  them  by  a  crier. 

"  " aX  the  flir/ht    .     .     .    a.t  the  bird-bolt"  : —  The 

flight  arrow  was  long,  and  was  used  for  long  shots  :  the 
bolt  was  short  and  thick,  and  suited  only  to  short  dis- 
tances. 

■''  " he  hath  holp  to  eat  it  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  ease," 

with  a  long  s,  the  quarto  "  eate,"  —  a  difi'erence  hardly 
worth  notice. 


231.  "Is  there  no  young  si^f/are/- "  ;  —  So  long  as  quarrel- 
some boys  '  square  ofl"  at  each  other,  explanation  of  this^ 
word  is  superfluous. 

232.  "  Enter  Don  Pedro,  John  the  Bastard"  &c. :  — Thus  the 
direction  of  the  folio,  in  which  John  is  generally  so  styled ; 
but  sometimes  John  and  Sir  John.  / 

"  " Leonato,  you  are  come  "  :  —  The  quarto  reads, 


"  are  you  come. 

"  "  Were  you  in  doubt  "  :  -^  The  quarto  adds  "  Sir." 

p.  233.     "  TO  wis  the  sum,"  &c. :  — The  quarto  has  "  That  is,"  &c. 

p.  234.      " to  f^n  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-jinder,"  Sec. :  —  So 

much  confusing  comment  has  been  made  on  this  plain 
passage,  that  it  is  pardonable  to  point  out  that  Benedick 
asks  '  do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  the  blind  boy  has  the 
eyes  of  a  greyhound,  and  that  Vulcan's  forge  and  anvil 
are  used  to  work  wood  ? ' 

p.  235.  "Enter  Don  Peduo":  —  Both  folio  and  quarto  add, 
"  John  the  Bastard ;  "  but  with  evident  error ;  for  John 
afterward  learns  from  Borachio  what  passes  at  this  inter- 
view. 

"  " it  is  not  so,  nor  'twas  not  so,"  &c.  —  This  is  the 

burden  of  a  fearful  old  story,  as  bloody  as  Blue  Beard, 
without  its  whimsicality,  which  will  ho  found  in  the  Va- 
riorum Edition,  related  upon  the  authority  of  Blakeway. 
In  the  story  is  a  motto,  "  Be  bold,  be  bold,  but  not  too 
bold,"  found  also  in  The  Faerie  Queene,  B.  III.  C.  xi.  54. 

p.  236.     "  I  speak  mine  "  :  —  The  quarto,  "  spoke." 

"  " in  the  force  of  his  will  "  :  —  Warburton's  pro- 

fessional eye  first  detected  the  allusion  here  to  heresy,  as 
defined  in  scholastic  divinit}' ;  according  to  which  it  was 
not  merely  heterodox  opinion,  but  a  wilful  adherence  lo 


sc.   III.  NOTES.  321 

such  opinion.  The  subject  was  a  familiar  one  in  Shake- 
speare's day. 

p.  236.      " a  recheat  winded  in  my  forehead  "  :  —  The  recall 

which  the  hunter  blew  upon  liis  horn  was  called  the  '  re- 
cheat.'     Benedick's  meaning  is  sufficiently  obvious. 

"  " hang  me   in  a  bottle,  like  a  cat "  :  —  It  was  a 

cruel  sport  of  the  day  to  shoot  at  a  cat  in  a  bottle. 

"  " and  called  Adam  "  :  —  An  allusion  to  one  of 

the  three  celebrated  archers,  Adam  Eell,  CljTn  of  the 
Clough,  and  "SVilliam  of  Cloudesley.     See  the  Outlmc's 

''      Ballad  in  Percy's  Reliques  of  En<jlish  Poetry. 

'p.  2-37.      "  In  time  the  savage  bull,"  &c.  :  — This  line  is  quoted, 
with  a  slight  error,  from  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy,  Act  II. 

"  " if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his  quiver  in  Ven- 

ice "  :  —  The  courtezans  and  iutrigumg  ladies  of  Venice 
were  famous,  the  world  over. 

^'  " ere  you  flout  rid  ends,"  &c.  :  —  alluding  to  the 

old  fgnnal  phiases  for  closing  letters,  such  as  Don  Pedro 
and  Claudio  have  just  been  quotmg. 

p.  238.      " [and  with  her  father,"  &c.]  :  —  These  words  are 

not  in  the  folio  :  making  just  one  Ime,  and  m  the  multi- 
plicity of  '  ands,'  they  were  evidently  skipped. 

Scene  II. 

p.  239.  "Enter  Leoxato  and  Antonio": — In  the  stage  di- 
rection here,  both  in  folio  and  quarto,  Antonio  is  called 
"  an  old  man,  brother  to  Leonato;  "  and  in  succeeding 
directions  and  prefixes,  "  Old  man,"  or  "  Brother." 

"  " I  can  tell  you  news  "  :  —  The  quarto  has  "  strange 

ncAvs ;  "  and  u\  Antonio  s  next  speech,  "  thus  much  over- 
heard." 

"  "  — —  X\n.ck-pleached  "  :  —  thickly  interwoven. 


Scene  III. 

p.  240.     " in  the  occasion  that  breeds  [it]  "  :  — Both  folio 

and  quarto  lack  '  it,'  which  is  from  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of 
1632.'  In  Conrade's  next  speech  but  one  the  quarto  has, 
"  at  least  a  patient  suff'erance  ;  "  and  m  his  next  after, 
"  you  should  take  true  root." 

"  " a  canker  in  a  hedge  "  :  —  a  dog-rose. 

p.  241.     "  I  will  make  all  use,"  &c.  :  — The  quarto  reads,  <'  I 
make." 

"  And   who,  [and  who]  "  :  —  This  iteration,  tame  in 


;/ 


VOL.   III. 


322       MUCH   ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING.      ACI   II. 

itself,  and  out  of  place  after  the  Bastard  has,  with  delib- 
eration, called  Claudio  "  a  proper  squire,"  is  entirely  un- 
suited  to  the  taciturn  phlegm  of  John ;  and  I  have  not 
a  doubt  that  the  second  *  and  who  '  is  an  accidental  rep- 
etition, and  that  we  should  read,  "  And  who  ?  which  way 
looks  he  r  " 
p.  241.  "I  whipp'd  behind  "  :  —  The  quarto  has,  "  I  whipp'd 
me  behind,"  &c. 

ACT    SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

p.  243.      " if  he  could  get  her  good  will  "  :  —  The  quarto 

and  folio  have  here,  "if  a  could,"  &c.  —  '  a '  being,  in 
Shakespeare's  day,  and  still,  in  some  parts  of  England,  a 
vulgar  colloquialism  for  'he.'  Throughout  the  quarto 
impression  of  this  play  '  a'  is  constantly  put  for  the  pro- 
noun ;  but  in  the  folio,  with  comparative  rarity.  That 
this  is  the  result  of  the  corrections  made  at  the  theatre 
in  the  quarto  copy  from  Mhich  the  folio  was  printed,  (See 
Introdiictinn,)  is  jolain,  from  the  appearance  of  this  change 
only  in  speeches  of  those  of  the  higher  ranks  among  the 
di-amatis  personye.  In  a  few  instances,  however,  the 
change  is  not  made  in  those ;  and  that  this  is  the  result  of 
inadvertence  is  shown  by  the  appearance  m  the  original 
of  '  I '  and  '  a '  in  the  same  speech,  Li  such  cases  the 
evident  design  of  the  authentic  text  is  perfected  in  the 
present  edition  ;  while  the  characteristic  vulgarism  is  al- 
lowed, as  in  that  text,  to  remaui  in  the  mouths  which  it 
becomes  :  —  a  course  which  has  not  hitherto  been  taken. 

earnest  of  the  be'r-'ard"  :  —  i.  e.,  the  bear-ward, 


—  spelled,  in  both  folio  and  quarto,  "  berrord,"  which 
shows  the  pronunciation  of  the  term,  and  indicates  the 
proper  manner  of  printmg  it. 

and   away   to  St.   Peter  for  the  Heavens 


Giiford  shows  that ""  for  the  Heavens  "  was  a  pretty  oath 
in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  Mr.  Dyce  would  place  the  co- 
lon after  '  Peter,'  and  read,  "for  the  Heavens,  he  shows," 
&c.  But  from  the  context  it  appears  that  here  the  obvious 
meaning  of  the  phrase  is  the  proper  one. 

,  244.  " Father,  as  it  please  you  "  :  —  <  Father '  is  omit- 
ted in  the  folio  ;  evidently  by  accident.  It  appears  in 
the  quarto. 

"  " too  important"  :  —  i.  e.,  importunate.    See  Note 

on  "  important  letters,"  Com.  of  Err.,  Act  V.  Sc.  1. 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  323 

p.  2-1-1.      " modest,  as  a  mmsio-e  "  :  —  a  stately  dance.    Mr. 

Collier's  folio  of  1632  reads,  a  liiie  or  two  below,  "  till  he 
sink  apacu  into  his  grave."  The  pun  is  a  tolerable  one 
for  the  old  dabbler,  but  out  of  place  ;  and  Shakespeare 
would  not  write  "  till  he  sink  apace."  It  occurs  in  Mars- 
ton's  Ixsatiate  Countess,  Act  II.,  where  Mr.  Collier's  cor- 
rector may  have  found  it ;  and  it  was  suggested  by  Capell. 

p.  24:0.  "  Enter  Don  Peuko  .  .  .  Balthazar  ;  John  "  :  — 
The  folio  and  quarto  have  "  Balthazar  or  dumb  John  "  — 
evidently  a  mispiint  for  '  and  don  John.'  That  Balthazar 
was  in  no  sense  dumb,  we  have  already  had  ample  evi- 
dence.    The  old  copies  have  "  Maskers  with  a  drum." 

"  " within  the  house  is  Jove  "  ;  —  The   folio  has 

"love,"  which,  of  course,  is  a  misprmt  for  'Jove,'  the 
word  in  the  quarto.  The  story  of  Baucis  and  Philemon 
is  related  in  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Book  8. 

II  ""Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me"  :  —  This  and  the 

two  following  speeches  are  a.ssigned  in  both  folio  and 
quarto  to  Benedick.  Theobald  first  saw  that  the  whole 
of  the  dialogue  with  Margaret  belongs  to  Balthazar  ;  which 
is  so  plain  when  attention  is  directed  to  the  matter,  that 
it  seems  strange  it  had  not  been  discovered  before.  Ben- 
edick is  at  this  time  engaged  with  Beatrice  ;  as  we  see  by 
theu-  entrance,  almost  immediately  after,  in  the  midst  of 
a  conversation,  of  which  we  hear  only  the  close.  The 
mistake  is  one  of  a  kind  which  is  common,  for  the  rea- 
son assigned  by  Mr.  Dyce,  that  "  two  prefixes,  each  be- 
guming  with  the  same  letter,  are  frequently  confoimded 
by  transcribers  and  printers."  See  Note  on  "  Let  them 
be  m  the  hands,"  &c.     Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

p.  246.      " the   Hundred   Mernj    Tales  "  ;  —  "  A    C    Mery 

Tales  "  is  the  title  of  an  old  jest  book  printed  first  by 
liastell,  and  therefore  between  1517  and  1533.  Only  one 
copy  is  known  to  exist ;  and  that  is  imperfect.  It  was 
discovered  in  1815  by  the  Rev.  Professor  Conybeare,  of 
Oxford.  A  few  copies  were  reprinted  by  that  pi-ince  of 
modern  prmters,  "NVhittingham,  under  the  superintend- 
ence of  Mr.  Singer  :  —  and  a  very  pretty  sort  of  book  it 
was  for  a  young  lady  to  have  her  good  wit  out  of. 

"  '<  onhj  his  gift  is  in  devising,"  &c.  :—  i.  e..  his 

only  gift,  &c.,  for  which  it  is  more  than  possible  that  the 
text  is  an  accidental  transposition. 

p.  248.      " 'twas  the  boy  that  stole  your  meat"  :  —  The 

story  to  which  this  speech  refers  appears  to  be  entirely 
lost  on  both  sides  of  the  water.  I  have  never  heard  of 
or  met  with  any  other  allusion  to  it. 


324       MUCH  ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING.      ACT   II. 

p.  248.  ^' Enter  Don  Pedro,  Hero,  and  Leonato  "  : — The 
direction  in  the  folio  is,  "  Enter  the  Prince,"  and  af- 
terward, "  Enter  Claudia  and  Beatrice,  Leonato,  Hero  ;  " 
but  in  the  quarto  we  have,  "  Enter  the  Piiiice,  Hero,  Le- 
onato, John  and  Borachio,  and  Conrade,"  and  afterwai'd, 
"  Enter  Claudio  and  Beatrice."  In  both  we  have  sj)eci- 
mens  of  the  carelessness  with  Avhich  entries  were  marked 
ill  early  imjDressions  of  old  plays.  But  although  John 
and  Borachio  do  not  appear  until  the  next  Scene,  and 
Conrade  not  at  all,  the  qviarto  is  plainly  correct  in  mak- 
ing Hero  and  Leonato  enter  with  Don  Pedro,  leaving  Bea- 
trice and  Claudio  to  follow  some  time  after.  For  not  only 
does  Benedick  say,  "  I  told  him  true,  that  your  Grace  had 
got  the  good  will  of  this  young  ladi/,"  —  i.  e..  Hero;  but 
Beatrice,  soon  after  she  comes  in,  says  to  the  Prince,  ♦'  I 
have  brought  Count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek." 
These  two  speeches  seem  to  group  the  characters  as  they 
apjxar  h\  the  text. 

p.  249.      " the    [good]   will  of  this  young  lady  "  :  —  The 

folio  has  "the  will,"  and  just  before,  "  I  think  told  him 
true,"  the  words  in  brackets,  in  the  text,  which  ai'e  found 
in  the  quarto,  having,  quite  surely,  been  omitted  by  ac- 
cident. 

"  " terrible  as  her  tenninations  "  :  —  The  foUo  omits 

'  her,'  accidentally  without  a  doubt. 

p.  250.      " the  infernal  Ati  in  good  apparel  "  :  — Although 

Ati.  was  not  a  Fury,  but  the  Goddess  of  Discord,  "War- 
burton's  opinion  that  this  is  "  a  pleasant  allusion  to  the 
custom  of  ancient  poets  and  painters,  who  represent  the 
furies  in  raggs,"  is  most  probably  correct. 

"  " Prester  John's  foot":  — Prcster  John  was  the 

fabulous  ruler  of  an  unknown  country  supposed  to  be  in 
the  far  East.  No  one  of  course  knew  any  thing  of  him, 
yet  almost  every  one  believed  m  his  existence,  and  be- 
lieved with  wonder.  See  Sir  John  Mandeville's  account 
of  his  travels,  written  in  the  fourteenth  century. 

"  " a  hair  ojf'  the  great  Cham's  beard  "  :  —  The  first 

folio  and  the  quarto  have  "  oft';  "  and  so  have  all  the  an- 
cient copies.  Therefore,  and  because  the  word  has  a  verj' 
appropriate  signiJication,  it  should  stand  ;  although  all 
modern  editions,  hitherto,  have  '  of,'  because  old  printers 
and  old  writers  did  not  ah\ays  distinguish  lietwecn  'oft" 
and  'of.'     AVhen  in  doubt,  take  the  authentic  text. 

"  " this  Lady  Tongue  "  —  Thus  the  folio.     The  sec- 

ond folio  has  "this  lady'.s  Tongue,"  which,  on  account  of 
the  allusion  to  '  a  dish,'  is  possibly  the  correct  reading. 
The  quarto  has  "  my  lady  Tongue." 


2o2. 

it 

n 

*t 

sc.   II.  NOTES.  32.'5 

p_  251.      " something  of  a  jealous    complexion  "  :^— The 

quarto  has  "that  jealous  complexion."  The  Spanish 
orange  was  called  the  Civil  orange  —  the  name  being  sr 
spelled  and  pronounced. 

II  .1 that  he  is  in  her  heart  "  :  —  So  the  quarto  :  the 

folio  has  "  my  heart "  —  a  manifest  error. 

II  11 thus  goes  every  one  to  the  world  but  I  "  :  —  For 

a  woman  to  '  go  to  the  world  '  was  for  her  to  be  married  ; 
the  phrase  signifying  either  to  go  the  way  of  the  world, 
or  to  take  a  place  in  the  world. 

never  sad,  but  when  she  sleeps"  — never  serious, 
to  hear  tell  of  a  husband"  :  —  This  form  of 
speech,  Avhich  Shakespeare  constantly  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  personages  of  the  highest  rank,  but  %\hich  is  now  never 
heard  in  Old  England,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  remotest 
rural  districts,  is  in  common  use  in  New  England.  The 
idiom  is  pure  English.  "  And  yet  I  sawe  in  that  little 
time,  in  one  Citie,  more  libertie  to  sinne,  then  euer  I 
heard  tell  of  in  our  noble  Citie  of  London  in  ix  yeare." 
Ascham's  Schookmaster,  4to.,  1589,  fol.  27  a. 

p.  253.     " answer  [my]  mind  "  :  —  The  folio  omits  "  my," 

which  is  found  in  the  quarto. 

"  <' th'  one  with  th'  other  "  :  —  Thus  both  folio  and 

quarto,  and  yet  all  modern  editions  have  '  the '  in  both 
instances.  The  pronunciation,  as  could  be  sho\\^l  by 
numberless  mstances,  was  t'  one  and  t'  other  —  the  latter 
of  which  survives  to  us.  The  number  of  similar  cases  in 
which  the  text  of  Shakespeare  is  faithfully  given  in  this 
alone  of  all  modern  editions  —  that  is,  since  1685  —  is 
countless  :  they  have  been  necessarily  passed  withoiit  no- 
tice, with  very  rare  exceptions.  Editors  will  misrep- 
resent the  text  ill  a  characteristic  though  trivial  pouit, 
like  this,  and  yet  affront  the  common  sense  of  mankind 
by  a  labored  explanation  of  what  Shakespeare  meant  by 
"  a  mountain  of  affection." 

''  " of  a  noble  strain  "  :  —  descent,  line-age,  —  from 

the  Anglo-Saxon  strynd ;  the  common  word  'strain' 
having  a  diiferent  root. 

Scene  II. 

p.  255.      " hear  Margaret  term  me  Claudto  "  :  —  Thus  both 

folio  and  quarto.  Theobald  read,  "  term  me  Borachio ;  "  — 
plausibly;  as  to  those  who  were  deceived,  Hero's  error  would 
have  seemed  of  a  very  ditt'erent  kind  if  they  had  had  reason 
to  suppose  she  thought  her  visitant  really  C'laiidio,  and  as 
Claudia  himself  was  to  be  a  spectator  of  the  scene,    lie  has 


326      MUCH   ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING,      act   ii. 


been  generally  followed  till  of  recent  years :  and  Mr.  Col- 
lier agrees  with  him,  although  he  gives  the  old  text  ! 
That  text  is  right  ;  for,  plainly,  Borachio  wheedled  Mar- 
garet into  playing  with  him  at  a  scene  between  the  other 
lovers.  He  himself  declares,  Act  V.  8c.  1,  that  she  was 
imiocent  of  any  attemjjt  to  injure  her  mistress  ;  and  as  for 
Clauilio,  it  was  enough  for  him  to  know  (as  he  thought) 
that  he  heard  Hero  "  term  "  another  than  he  Claudlo. 

such  seeming  truth  of  her  disloyalty  "  :  —  The 


old  copies  have  for  '  her  '  the  very  needless  and  unpleasant 
repetition,  "Heroes ;  "  which,  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt, 
was  the  result  of  a  mistaking  of  '  her,'  in  the  MS.,  for  a 
customary  abbreviation  of  the  proper  njmie.  Thus,  in  the 
quarto,  'Margai-et'  is  printed  "  3/a/'(7."  just  before. 

Scene  III. 

"  Enter  Benedick,"  &c.  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have 
"  Enter  Benedick  alone,"  the  Boy's  entrance  not  bcmg 
noticed. 

in  the  orchard  "  ;  — '  Orchard '  (originally  '  hort- 


yard')  and  '  garden '  were  synonymous  in  Shakespeare's 
day. 

266.      " now  is  he  turn'd  orthographer  "  :  —  Folio  and 

quarto  have  orthography. 

"  " her  hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it  jilease  God  "  : 

—  See  Act  III.  Sc.  4.  "I  like  the  new  tire  within  ex- 
cellently, if  the  hair  were  a  thought  browner."  Mr.  Yer- 
planck  reasonably  supj)0ses  that  Shakespeare  "  had  an 
especial  and  somewhat  whimsical  [though,  why  whim- 
sical ':]  dislike  to  all  disguises  of  the  head  by  art."  They 
were  but  too  conunon  in  lais  day. 

"  "Enter  Don  Pedeo    .    .    .   and  Balthazar": — The 

quarto  has,  "  Enter  Prince,  Leonato,  Claudio,  musicke," 
and  afterward,  "  Enter  Balthaser  with  musicke  ;  "  but  the 
folio  has  only,  and  in  the  tirst  place,  "Enter  Prince,  Le- 
onato, Claudio,  and  Jacke  Wilson,"  giving  us  plainly  in 
this  Scene,  as  in  another  of  this  play,  a  transcript  from 
the  very  prompt  book  used  at  Shakespeare's  theatre.  Jack 
AVilson  not  being  "  nominated  "  in  the  quarto,  it  is  jjlain 
that  the  copy  from  which  the  folio  was  printed  has  other 
authority  than  that  Avhich  pertains  to  the  oldc^  edition ; 
and  besides,  if  he  were  the  distinguished  Dr.  John  Wil- 
son, of  Oxford,  which  is  more  than  jjroljable,  (See  liiin- 
bault's  Who  was  Jack  Wilson.^  and  Shakespeare's  Scholar. 
p.  1()G)  he  was  not  the  "  music  "  which  entered  when 
that  edition  was  printed ;  for  he  was  then  only  about 
six   years    old,  but   about  twenty-nine,  of  course,  when 


6C.    III. 


NOTES.  327 


tlic  folio  was  published.  The  context  shows  plainly 
that  Balthazar  enters  in  company  ^\■ith  the  Prince  and 
the  others,  after  having  sung  a  solo  to  them  just  before. 
p.  257.  "  We'll  tit  the  kid-iox"  :  —  '  Kid,'  as  meaning  '  young,' 
is  still  in  use  among  the  lower  classes  in  England.  It  is 
more  than  probable,  however,  that  we  should  read  '  hid- 
fox.' 
"  "  Note  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing  "  ;  —  This  is  one  of 

many  evidences  that  th  used  to  be  pronounced  as  t,  and 
'  nothing '  as  '  no-ting.'  But  the  orthoepical  point  not 
having  been  noticed  hitherto,  Theobald  read  '  noting,' 
and  was  invariably  followed,  until  Mr.  Collier  restored 
the  original  word,  merely,  however,  on  the  principle  of 
adherence  to  "the  oldest  authority."     See  Introduction. 

p.  258.  "  Then  sigh  not  so,"  &c.  :  —  In  most  modern  editions, 
and  in  all  of  the  present  century,  this  line  has  hitherto 
been  improperly  printed  as  two.  The  occurrence  of  a 
rhvme  in  the  middle  of  an  octosyllabic  line  which  itself 
is  "rhymed  with  by  another  only  at  the  close,  is  common 
m  our  early  ballad  poetry. 
"  "  The  frauds  of  nwn  were  ever  so"  ;  —  Thus  the  folio  ; 

the  quarto  has  "  The  fravirf  of  men  was,"  &c. 

"  '< stalk  on,  the  fowl  sits  "  :  —  An  allusion  to  the 

use  of  the  stalking  horse  behind  which  the  ancient  fowler 
hid  himself  trom  the  birds. 

p.  260.  " prays ;  —  cries, '  O  sweet  Benedick  ! '  "  &c. :  —  Fo- 
lio and  quarto  have  "prayes,  curses,  O  sweet  Benedick," 
&c.  In  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  '  curses'  was  changed 
to  '  cries,'  for  which  it  might  easily  be  misprinted,  and 
Avhich,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  is  the  correct  word  ;  for 
why  should  Beatrice  curse  ?  Mr.  Singer  adopts  the 
change.  But  the  needful  correction  was  tlnis  but  partly 
made ;  for  Claudio  having  already  said  that  Beatrice 
"weeps,  sobs,"  it  is  plain  that  "cries"  means  that  she 
cries  out,  "  O  sweet  Benedick  !  "  Hitherto  the  text  has 
predicated  nothing  of  her  exclamation. 

'/  " an  alms  [-f/cer/ ]    to  hang  him":  —  Folio    and 

quarto  have  "  an  alms  to  hang  him  ;  "  but  there  can 
scarcely  be  a  doubt  that  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  is  cor- 
rect in  reading  '  alms-r/cer/.'  '  An  alms '  meant  only  a  chari- 
table gilt ;  but  '  an  alms-deed  '  was  a  recognized  phrase, 
almost  a  word,  signifying  not  only  such  an  act,  but  aiay 
equally  worthy.  Thus  Queen  Margaret  says  to  Gloster  in 
Henrg  VI.,  Part  3,  Act  V.  Sc.  5,  "  murther  is  thy  alms- 
deed." 
p.  261.     " I  would  have  daff'd,"  &c. :  —  i.  e.,  doffed. 


328     MUCH  ADO   ABOUT  NOTHING,     act  hi. 

p.  261.      " a  contemptible  spirit  "  :  —  i.  e.,  contemptuous  — 

a  frequent  use  of  the  word  in  Shakespeare's  day. 

"  '< you  may  see  he  is  wise  "  :  —  The  quarto  has 

"say"  and  afterward,  "most  christian-like." 

"  "  Shall  we  go  seek  Benedick  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  see," 

which,  from  the  situation  of  the  parties,  seems  to  be  a 
misj^rint  for  '  seek,'  which  is  found  in  the  quarto. 

p.  262.     " unworthy  to  have  so  good  a  lady  "  :  —  The  quar- 
to omits  '  to  have.' 

"  " and  her   gentlewowaw  carry":  —  The  quarto 

has  "  gentlewome?i."  is 


'«-■- 


ACT    THIRD, 


Scene  I. 


p.  264.  "  Proposing  with  the  Prince  "  :  —  conversing  —  from 
the  French  propos,  '  discourse.' 

"  "  To  listen  our  propose  "  ;  —  The  folio  has  "purpose  ;  " 

but  although  instances  of  the  use  of  that  word  in  the 
sense  of  '  conversation '  occur,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
it  is  in  this  case  a  misprint  for  the  word  found  in  the 
quarto.     See  the  previous  Note. 

p.  265.      " haggards  of  the  rock"  :  —  wild  hawks  of  the 

mountains. 

p.  266.  "  If  black  "  :  —  Dark-complexioned  men  were  called 
black.  "  Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies' 
eyes."      Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

"  " an  agate  very  vilely  cut  "  :  —  This  comparison 

to  the  diminutive  figures  sculptured  ujjon  agate  seal 
rings,  was  not  uncommon  in  Shakespeare's  day. 

'  " press  me  to  death  with  wit  "  :  —  The  peine  forte 

et  dure,  used  of  old  as  the  last  resort  to  compel  accused 
persons  to  plead,  was  inflicted  by  stretching  them  on 
their  backs  upon  their  dungeon  floor,  and  gradually 
heaping  heavy  weights  upon  the  chest  and  abdomen  until 
a  plea  was  extorted  or  death  ensued.  During  the  pro- 
cess, the  suff'ercr  was  allowed  only  water  from  the  pool 
nearest  the  prison. 

"  "  It  were  a  bitter  death  to  die  with  mocks." 

The  original  has  "  better,"  an  obvious  and  easy  mis- 
print fur  the  word  in  the  text,  to  which  it  is  corrected  in 
the  second  folio.  The  quarto  has  the  same  error  and  an- 
other, "  a  better  death  than  die,"  &c.,  which  reading  has 


sc.  II  NOTES.  329 

most  strangely  been  given  in  all  modern  editions  hitherto, 
to  the  entire  disregard  of  the  context  as  well  as  of  the 
authentic  copy.  For,  "  It  were  a  better  death  than  die 
■with  mocks  "  can  only  refer  to  Benedick's  consuming  away 
in  sighs ;  whereas  it  is  herself  that  Hcrr)  reiDresents  as  be- 
ing in  danger  of  being  pressed  to  death  with  A\it,  if  she 
reveal  Benedick's  passion,  and  "  therefore,"  she  says,  "  let 
Benedick  consume."  He  is  thi-eatened  with  no  other 
danger  from  Beatrice  than  that  in  which  he  is  already 
represented  to  be  from  her  charms.  Mr.  Collier  incor- 
rectly quotes  the  te.xt  of  the  folio  as  "  a  better  death  than 
Skfi"^  to  die,"  &c.     '  Tickling  '  is  here  a  trisyllable. 

p.  267.      "  Why,    every    dai/  ;  —  to-morrow  "  :  —  Mr.    Collier's 
folio  of  1632  has  "  in  a  day  "  —  a  plausible  emendation  ; 
•w  '"^  but  the  original  text  is  correct.     Hero  uses  a  form  of  ex- 

•; ',  '  pression  \\hich  has  survived  in  America,  although  it  is 

^  not  in  common  use.     It  appears,  for  instance,  in  business 

W  announcements,  sometimes  seen  in  the  newspapers,  that 

W  certain  goods  will  be  ready  '  in  all  next  month.' 

"  "  She's  ta'en  "  :  —  The  quarto  has,  "  She's  lim'd." 

Scene  II. 

p,  269.      " or   a  worm"  :  —  the  tooth-ache  was   formerly 

supposed  to  be  caused  by  a  worm  at  the  root  of  the  tooth. 

"  •< every  one   can   master   a  grief,"   &c.  :  —  The 

original  has  "  cannot "  —  an  ob^dous  error. 

'.         " all  shps"  : — loose  trousers  or  breeches.     We 

still  have  '  slop-shops.'  That  part  of  the  allusion  to  the 
aping  of  foreign  fashions  that  time  out  of  mind  has  been 
characteristic  of  the  English  race,  ^hich  is  enclosed  in 
brackets,  is  found  only  in  the  quarto.  It  seems  not  to 
have  been  stricken  out  by  the  author  ;  for  without  it. 
Benedick's  "  foolery  "  would  be  somewhat  incomplete. 

'  "  And  when  Avas  he  wont  to  ii-ash  his  face  f  "  —  That 

the  benign  effect  of  the  tender  passion  upon  Benedick  in 
this  regard  should  be  so  particularly  noticed,  requires, 
perhaps,  the  remark,  that  in  Shakespeare's  time  our  race 
had  not  abandoned  itself  to  that  reckless  use  of  water, 
either  for  ablution  or  potation,  which  has  more  recently 
become  one  of  its  characteristic  traits. 

p,  270.      " with   her  face  upioards  "  ;  —  Theobald   read, 

"with  her  heels  upwards"  —  a  needless  change,  which 
Heath  well  opposed  by  pointing  out  that  the  author 
"prepares  the  reader  to  expect  somewhat  uncommon  or 
extraordinary  ;  and  the  humor  consists  in  the  disap- 
pomtment  of  that   expectation."     It   is  plam,  too,  that 


330     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING,     act  hi. 

the  Prince  alludes  to  that  burial  mentioned  by  Perdita  iii 
the  The  Winter's  Tale,  Act  IV.  Sc.  3  :  — 

"  Not  like  a  corse ;  but  if —  not  to  be  buried, 
But  quick,  and  in  mine  arms." 

p.  270.  "  Good  den,  brother  "  :  —  <  Good  den  '  was  a  collo- 
quial abbreviation  of  '  Good  even.' 

p.  272.     «* till  7Uffht  "  :  —  The  quarto  has  "  till  midnight." 

Scene  III. 

"  "  Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges,"  &c.  :  —  In  the  oriffinal 

St  age- direction  Verges  is  simply  designated  as  the  "  corn- 
partner  "  of  Dogberry. 

p.  273.     " that  your  hills   be  not  stol'n  "  :  —  The  '  bill ' 

was  a  long-handled  weapon  like  a  halberd,  uniting  the 
spear  and  the  axe.  The  entire  costume  of  these  watch- 
man Scenes  is  that  of  Shakespeare's  own  time  and  coun- 
try. In  the  origmal  stage-direction  for  Sc.  3  of  this  Act, 
"  Goodman  Verges  "  is  called  the  "  Headbnrowjh."  The 
Watch  was  chosen  and  regulated  much  after  Dogberri/s 
fashion  in  Stratford  on  Avon.  Among  the  papers  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  HalliwcU  in  his  Life  of  Shakespeare  is  an 
Inventory  of  the  goods  of  Henry  Field,  a  to\\i\sman 
of  Shakespeare's,  dated  1.592.  In  it  we  find,  "  In  the 
yeord  these  :  —  One  bucket  with  cocke,  lyncks,  cord  and 
Avyandlesse,  one  old  heare,  fowr  half  quarters  bagges  good 
and  badde,  one  watching  byll."  AVatchmen  carried  the 
bill  m  Litchfield,  England,  till  Dr.  Johnson's  time,  as  he 
assures  us. 

p.  274.  "  If  you  hear  a  child  cry,"  &c.  :  —  This  is  not  much 
of  a  caricature  ;  for  in  the  Statutes  of  the  Streets,  printed 
in  1598,  it  is  ordered  that  "  no  man  .  .  .  shall  whistle 
after  the  houre  of  nyne  of  the  clock  in  the  night,"  or 
"  keep  any  rule  wherein'  any  such  suddaine  outcry  be 
made  in  the  still  of  the  night,  as  making  an  affray  or 
beating  his  wife  or  servant,"  &c. 

that  knows  the  statues"  : — So    the   original. 


The  quarto  has  "  statutes ;  "  the  change  from  which,  in  the 
folio,  will  hardly  be  admitted  to  be  among  those  which, 
according  to  Mr.  Collier,  are  for  the  worse.  See  Intro- 
duction. 

•'  Keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own  "  :  —  This 
is  a  part  of  the  oath  of  a  grand  jury  man,  and  is  reason- 
ably considered  by  Malone  as  among  the  indications  that 
Shakespeare  was  at  some  period  of  his  life  very  familiar 
with  legal  forms. 


sc.   IV.  NOTES.  331 

p.  274.      " and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard,  utter  all  to 

thee  "  :  —  Borachio  was  not  drunk,  nor  did  he  mean  to 
represent  himself  as  diunk  at  that  time.  Tliis  part  of  his 
reply  is  an  allusion  to  his  name,  which  was  the  Italian 
term  for  a  gross,  gluttonous,  hibulous  liver.  "  Boraccia, 
a  boracho  or  bottle  made  of  goates  skin,  such  as  they 
use  in  Spaine.  Boracchiare,  to  gluttonize."  Florio's 
Ital.  Die.  The  unlettered,  uncultured  Shakespeare  must 
surely  have  acquired  such  knowledge  as  this  by  witch- 
craft. 

p.  275.      '< thou    art    unconfirmd  "  :  —  Though    '  uncon- 

finned  '  may  mean  '  not  fixed  in  the  ways  of  the  world,' 
it  seems  to  me  more  than  probable  that  Shakespeare  wrote 
♦  unconformed '  —  to  the  world,  of  course. 

p.  276.      " in  the  reechtj  painting  "  :  —  '  Reechy  '  is  dis- 
colored by  smoke.     It  is  the  adjective  of  '  reek,'  from  the 
A.  S.  recall. 
"                 "  And  thought  th>/  ^Margaret  was  Hero  r  " 

This  reading  of  the  authentic  copy  has  been  hitherto 
most  strangely  set  aside  in  favor  of  the  less  appropriate 
and  significant  text  of  the  quarto  :  —  "  And  thought 
the)/  Margaret,"  &c. 

p.  277.      " 'a  wears  a  loek  "  :  —  Love  locks  were  very  com- 
monly worn  by  the  young  men  of  Shakespeare's  day. 

"  "  Never  speak  "  :  —  In  both  folio  and  quarto  these 

words  are  given  to  Conrade,  by  an  evident  error  which 
Theobald  corrected. 

Scene  TV. 

p.  278.      " your  other  rabato  "  :  —  a  kind  of  ruff,  called  by 

Dekker,  "  your  stiff-necked  rebatoes." 

"  " down  sleeves,  side  sleeves":  —  The  dress  was 

made  after  a  fashion  wliich  is  illustrated  in  many  old 
portraits.  Beside  a  sleeve  which  fitted  more  or  less  closely 
to  the  arm  and  extended  to  the  wrist,  there  was  another, 
for  ornament,  which  hung  from  the  shoulder,  wide  and 
open.  '  Side '  was  used  of  old  to  mean  '  long,'  from  the 
A.  S.  sid,  '  ample.'  Occleve  thus  ridicules  the  sumptu- 
ous and  senseless  side  sleeve  :  — 

"  Now  hath  this  land  little  neede  of  broomes 
To  sweepe  away  the  filth  out  of  the  street. 
Sen  side-sleeves  of  pennilesse  groomes 
Will  it  up-licke,  be  it  ch-ie  or  weete." 
—  A  function  now  transferred  to  ladies'  skirts. 

p.  279.      "  Lii/ht  o  Love  "  ;  —  This  was  a  dance  tune,  popular  of 


332     MUCH   ADO   ABOUT  NOTHING,     ACT   Til. 


old.  It  is  mentioned  in  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona, 
Act  I.  So.  2.  The  notes  of  the  air  are  printed  in  the 
Variorum  Shakespeare  and  in  Chappei's  Ancient  Enylish 
Airs. 

p.  279.      " you'll    look  he   shall  lack  no   barns  "  :  —  The 

quarto  has,  "  you'll  see."  They  will  lose  the  point  of 
Beatrice's  retort  Avho  do  not  know  that  the  Scottish 
'  bairns  '  was  '  bams  '  m  English,  and  was  very  commonly 
used  of  old. 

"  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H." 
The  word  '  ache '  used  to  be  pronounced  like  the  letter 
H.     See  "  Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches."     The  Tempest, 
Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

p.  280.      " cardials  benedictus  "  ;  —  The  carduus  benedicfus, 

or  blessed  thistle,  was  thought  of  old  to  possess  sovereign 
healing  virtues,  and  to  be  particularly  efficacious  in  af- 
fections of  the  heart.  It  is  the  Atractylis  llirsuta  of 
Botany. 

SCEXE    V. 

"  "  Enter  .  ,  ,  Verges  "  :  —  It  has  before  been  stated  in 

these  notes  that  the  folio  in  this  Scene  designates  Doy- 
berri/'s  partner  as  the  Headboroufjh,  both  in  the  stage- 
directions  and  in  most  of  the  prefixes. 

p.  281.      " jmlabras"  :  —  Spanish  for  'words.'     It  Avas  in 

quite  common  use,  even  among  the  Doybernjs  and  the 
tilys  of  Shakespeare's  day  :  '  palaver '  is  a  corruption  of  it. 

"  "All  thy  tediousness  on  me,  ah^"  —  Thus  folio  and 

quarto.  It  is  a  small  matter,  but  all  modem  editions 
before  this  have  "  All  thy  tediousness  on  me  r  ha  !  "  — 
a  different  sentence  and  another  word. 

■  an  'twere  a  thousand  times  more  "  :  —  The  quar- 


to has  ^^ pounds. 

"  ,        " God's  a  good  man  "  :  —  This  is  a  very  ancient 

saying,  and  is  found  in  various  old  authors. 

2S2.  "It  shall  be  suffigance"  :  —  Here  both  folio  and  quar- 
to have  ''Exit,"  —  the  only  direction  of  the  sort  in  those 
copies  for  this  part  of  the  Scene.     The  error  is  patent. 

"  " we  are  now  to  examine  those  men "  :  —  Thus  the 

folio:  the  quarto,  which  is  followed  for  the  blunder's  sake, 
in  almost  all  modern  editions,  has  "  examinrt^/ow  these 
men."  That  the  former  words  are  foiind  in  the  authentic 
copy,  and,  being  there,  have  a  clear  and  appropriate  sense, 
is  sufficient  reason  for  giving  them  in  the  text ;  but  there 


so.   T.  NOTES.  333 

i;;  another  for  believing  them  to  be  the  correct  reading.  — 
The  blunder  in  the  quarto  is  entirely  out  of  place  in 
Do(ihernjs  mouth :  it  is  not  of  the  sort  ^vhich  Shakespeare 
has  made  characteristic  of  his  mind.  Dogbernj  mistakes 
the  significance  of  words,  but  never  errs  in  the  forms  of 
speech  :  he  is  not  able  to  discriminate  between  sounds 
that  are  like  -v\  ithout  being  the  same  ;  but  he  is  never  at 
fault  in  grammar  :  and  this  putting  of  a  substantive  into 
his  mouth  for  a  verb  is  entirely  at  variance  with  his  habit 
of  thought,  and  confounds  his  cacology  with  that  which 
is  of  quite  another  sort.  Shakespeare  made  him  blunder 
in  almost  every  speech  he  utters  ;  but  his  blunders  are 
those  of  pretending  ignorance  and  conceited  folly.  If  he 
would  but  use  a  vocabulary  suited  to  his  capacity,  and 
talk  only  about  what  he  understands,  his  speech  might 
be  without  ideas,  but  it  would  also  be  without  faults. 
Often  as  there  was  occasion  for  him  to  utter  a  falsely 
constructed  sentence  or  misuse  the  parts  of  speech,  Shake- 
speare never  makes  him  do  so ;  unless  we  are  to  believe 
the  evidence  of  the  unauthentic  against  that  of  the  au- 
thentic copy,  that  this  is  a  solitary  instance  of  such  in- 
congruity. 

p.  282.      " to  a  non  co7ne  "  ;  —  Thus  both  folio  and  quarto. 

By  printing  it  non  com.,  more  like  the  abbreviation  of 
the  Latin  non  compos,  modern  editors  have  lost  a  part  of 
Doff  berry's  mystification. 


ACT    FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  283.      " [not  knowing  what  they  do  !]  "  :  — These  words 

are  found  only  in  the  quarto.  The  sentence  is  so  filled 
with  repetitions  that  this  clause  might  easily  escape  the 
eye  or  the  memory  of  a  compositor  ;  and  therefore  to  ex- 
clude it  entirely  would  hardly  l)e  justifiable.  This  con- 
sideration rather  than  its  intrinsic  value,  or  the  certain- 
ty that  it  was  not  struck  out,  or  that  it  was  eve-r  written 
by  Shakespeare,  secures  it  a  place  in  the  present  text. 

"  "' 'some  be  of  laughing,  as,  ha!   ha  I  he!'"  — 

Benedick  quotes  from  the  old  accidences. 

p.  285.  "  Out  on  thee  !  Seeming  !  "  —  The  punctuation  of  the 
folio  is,  "Out  on  thee,  seeming.  I  Avill  write  against  it," 
&c.  Pope  read,  "  Out  on  thy  seeming,"  and  has  been 
followed  by  all  editors,  except  Mr.  Collier,  (who  retains 
the    original  punctuation   and   supposes    Claudio  to   call 


334     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.     ACT  ir. 

He7-o  '  seeming,')  and  Mr.  Knight  and  Mr.  Verplanck, 
who  read,  "  Out  on  the  seeming  !  " 

p.  285.  «■  I  charge  thee  do  [so]  "  :  —  The  folio  omits  '  so,'  which 
is  found  in  the  quarto. 

"  "  Hero  itself"  :  —  Some  read,  "  Hero  herself,"  which  is 

plausible ;  but  Claudio,  in  reply  to  Hero's  question,  speaks 
of  the  name,  not  directly  of  her  who  bears  it. 

p.  286.  "  Fie,  fie  !  "  &c.  :  —  This  is  the  arrangement  of  the 
original,  which  Capell,  who  has  been  generally  followed, 
did  not  mend  by  readuig, 

"  Fie,  fie  !  they  are 
Not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord  ;  not  to  be  sjioke  of." 
The  folio  has  'spoken; '   the  quarto,  'spoke.' 

p.  287.     " on  the  rearward  of  reproaches  "  :  —  The  folio 

has  "reward,"  evidently  a  typographical  error  for  " rere- 
ward"  of  the  quarto. 

"  " frugal  Nature' s_/rame  "  .-  —  i.  e.,  at  the  disposi- 

tion, the  design  of  Providence.  It  is,  however,  not  impos- 
sible that  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  is  correct  in  reading 
"Nature's  ^/-oiOTj."  The  misprint  would  be  very  easy, 
and  the  word  is  highly  appropriate. 

"  "  Who  smeared  thus  "  :  —  The  quarto  has  "  smirched." 

p.  288.  "  For  I  have  only  silent  been,"  &c.  :  —  All  editions 
hitherto  have  this  line, 

"  For  I  have  only  been  silent  so  long  ; " 
which  is  just  such  sort  of  verse  as, 

"  Lay  your  knife  and  your  fork  across  your  plate." 
The  reason  of  the  corruption  is  that  in  quarto  and  folio 
the  first  four  lines  of  this  speech  are  printed  as  prose, 
thus : — 

"  Fri.  Heare  me  a  little,  for  I  haue  onely  bene  silent  so 
long,  and  giuen  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune,  by  no- 
ting of  the  Ladie,  I  haue  markt. 
A  thousand  bluvshing  apparitions,"  &c. 
Can  there  be  a  doubt,  that  after  the  passage  was  put  in 
type  in  the  quarto  it  broke  down  r  and  that,  not  being 
easily  divided,  on  account  of  the  hemistich,  it  was  ar- 
ranged as  well  as  possible  in  the  form  of  prose,  the  trans- 
position in  question  being  then  accidentally  made  r  The 
quarto  having  been  used  as  a  stage  copy  ( See  Historical 
Sketch  of  the  Text,  Vol.  I.,)  and  the  folio  printed  from  it, 
(See  Introduction,)  this  arrangement  of  the  passage  was 
peri)etuated  ;  for  the  error  v\as  not  of  a  sort  which  de- 
manded correction  in  a  prompter's  book. 


su.  I.  NOTES.  335 

p.  288.      " hear  away  those  blushes  "  :  —  The  quarto  has 

"beat,"  which  Mr.  Collier  gives.     See  Introduction. 

"  "  My  reverence,  calling,"  &c.  :  —  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of 

1632  has  "^Iv  reverend  calling,'' &c.,  the  correctness  of 
•which  is  so  probable,  and  the  misprint  which  it  uivolves, 
so  easy,  that,  were  it  not  for  the  great  danger  it  woidd 
involve  to  the  whole  text,  thus  to  set  aside  an  intelligible 
authentic  reading,  there  could  be  no  hesitation  in  accept- 
ing it ;  and  this  is  almost  equally  true  with  regard  to  the 
substitution,  in  the  same  volume,  of  '  bitting'  (i.  e.,  blight- 
ing) for  "biting"  in  the  last  line  of  the  same  speech. 
But  as  to  '  reverence,'  see  Act  V.  Sc.  1. 

"  Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  iiniocent  child  and  me, 
That  I  am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by,"  &c. 

p.  289.     " the  Princei  left  for  dead  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto 

have, 

"  Your  daughter,  here  the  Princesse  (left  for  dead.)" 
But  Hero  Avas  not  a  Princess  ;  nor  is  it  intimated  that  she 
was  of  a  rank  even  approaching  the  princely.    The  Princes 
had  just  left  her  for  dead.     The  same  error  occurred  and 
has  been  corrected  in  2'he  Tempest,  Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

p.  290.  " we  rack  the  value  "  :  —  i.  e.,  '  we  violently  in- 
crease the  value.'  The  use  of  '  rack '  in  this  sense  —  pre- 
*  sers-ed  in  '  rack-rent '  —  is  certainly  tliree  hundred  years 
I  old,  if  not  more.  It  frequently  occurs  in  the  Conceipt  of 
^  English  PolUcie,  published  in  1589,  which  is  referred  to 
IB                      on  several  occasions  in  these  Notes. 

^  "  " m  his  liver  "  : —  The  liver  was  supposed  to  be 

the  seat  of  smaorous  passion. 

"  Ford.     Love  my  wife  ? 
Pistol.  With  liver  burning  hot." 

Mernj  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

"  " and  doubt  not  but  success  "  :  —  i.  e.,  what  fol- 

lows, what  succeeds.  A  signification  similar  to  that 
which  '  succeed '  has  in  "  Owe  and  succeed  tliy  weak- 
ness."    See  Note  on  Measure  for  Measure,  Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

p.  292.  ".You  kill  me  to  deny  "  :  —  The  quarto  has,  "  deny 
it,"  which  Mr.  Collier  gives,  although,  as  he  well  remarks, 
•'  Shakespeare  and  other  writers  of  his  time,  and  after- 
wards, not  unfrequently  employ  '  deny  '  in  the  sense  of 
refuse ;  and  so  it  may  be  taken  in  the  folio." 

t).  293.  "  Princes  and  Counties  .'  "  —  '  County  '  was  the  orthog- 
raphy of  Shakespeare's  day  for  Comte,  the  French  title 
corresponding  to  '  Earl '  m.  English.     It  occurs  several 


336   MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING,   act  iv. 

times  in  Shakespeare's  works,  though  much  less  frequent- 
ly than  '  Covint.'  This  is  the  only  instance  of  the  plural. 
In  the  quarto  of  this  play  the  orthography  is  ahvays 
county  or  counte,  which  is  in  the  folio  altered  to  Count  in 
every  instance  but  this.     See  the  next  Note. 

p.  293.  " a  goodly  roi^wY  —  confect ;  a  sweet  gallant  sure- 
ly": —  Thus  the  folio,  with  a  comma,  of  course,  instead 
of  our  dash,  between  '  count '  and  '  confect.'  Beatrice 
here  is  "  huddling  jest  upon  jest  with  impossible  convey- 
ance." Her  wit  and  her  anger  working  together,  she 
at  once  calls  Claudia's  accusation  "  a  goodly  conte  con- 
fect," i.  e.,  a  story  made  up,  and  him  a  "count  confect," 
i.  e.,  a  nobleman  of  sugar  candy  ;  for  he  was  plainly  a 
pretty  fellow  and  a  dandy  ;  and  then  she  clenches  the 
nail  that  she  has  driven  home,  by  adding  "  a  s\\eet  gal- 
lant, surely  !  "  This  sense  of  the  passage  (which  seems 
to  have  escaped  all  apprehension  hitherto,  the  consequence 
being  an  almost  universal  corruption  of  the  text)  is  fur- 
ther evident  from  the  inter-dependence  of  the  whole  ex- 
clamation, "  Surely  a  princely  teslimonij,  a  goodly  count," 
—  the  tirst  part  of  ^^  hich  would  be  strangely  out  of  place, 
if  there  were  no  ])un  in  the  second.  In  Shakespeare's 
time  the  French  title  '  Count '  was  pronounced  like  '  conte ' 
or  '  compte,'  meaning  '  a  fictitious  story,'  a  word  which 
was  then  in  common  use.  For  instance :  "  to  let  you  heare 
Prouerbes  which  very  Artificers  haue  in  their  mouth,  and 
comptes  which  are  used  to  be  told  by  the  fireside."  Ciuaz- 
zo's  Civile  Coiirersatimi,  4to.  lo8fi.  fol.  fib.  "  —  pleas- 
ant Jests,  Fables,  Allegories,  Similitudes,  Prouerbes, 
Comptes,  and  other  delightfull  speach."  lb.,  fol.  62  b. 
'  Conteur,'  another  word  then  in  vogue,  meant,  as  Shake- 
speare's contemporary,  Cotgrave,  tells  us,  "  an  idle  talker, 
vaine  speaker,  ordinarie  teller  of  old  wives  tales."  Com- 
fects,  confccts,  comfets,  or  comfits  (for  the  four  orthogra- 
phies were  indifferently  used)  were  so  called  because  they 
were  made  up,  as  the  etymology  shows  ;  and  see  Cot- 
grave,  in  V.  confection.  '  Conte '  suggested  not  only  '  count ' 
bixt  '  confect,'  the  first  vowel  sound  being  the  same  in  all. 
The  quarto  has  "  a  goodly  counte,  counte  confect,"  which 
has  been  generally  adopted  with  the  explanation  that 
"  Beatrice  first  calls  Chiudio  '  count,'  and  then  gives  him 
his  title,  '  count  confect  !  '  "  But  surely  this  accepta- 
tion, which  has  been  hitherto  universal,  loses  the  point 
of  Beatrice  s  iimuendo,  deprives  what  is  left  of  its  proper 
connection,  and  is  inconsistent  with  the  quickness  and 
concentration  of  her  wit  and  the  state  of  mind  in  which 
she  is.  We  can  easily  imagine  the  bitter  sneer  with 
which  Beatrice  flings  (mt  '  Count  —  confect,'  lingering  a 


sc.   ir. 


NOTES.  337 


perceptible  moment  on  the  first  syllable  of  the  latter 
word  ;  but  that  her  stopping,  "  in  the  tempest  and.  whirl- 
-VA-ind  of  her  passion,"  to  repeat  '  a  goodly  Count,  Count 
confect,'  would  be  umiatural  in  any  one,  and  particular- 
ly unlike  her,  we  do  not  need  the  evidence  of  the  authen- 
tic edition  to  tell  us.  It  has  taken  many  lines,  as  it  al- 
most always  must,  to  describe  and  explain  what  would 
flash  instantaneously  upon  the  mind  of  an  auditor  in 
Shakespeare's  day,  or  of  a  reader  prepared  to  receive  it 
in  this.  The  text,  should  be  '  a  goodly  conte  —  confect,' 
were  it  not  that  '  conte,'  '  compte,'  and  '  count '  were 
used  interchangeably  when  this  play  was  written. 

r).  293.      " manhood  is  melted  into  court' sies  "  :  —  Both  folio 

and  quarto  (though  they  differ  much  in  mere  orthogra- 
phy) have  "  cursies."    It  is  possible  that  we  should  read 
'  curses,' —  Beatrice  meaning  that  there  was  nothing  left 
-of  men  but  words  —  curses  and  compliments. 

Scene  II. 

p.  294.  '•  Enter  .  .  .  Sexton  "  :  —  In  the  stage- direction  of  the 
folio  he  is  called  "  the  Town  Clerk."  There  is  great  con- 
fusion in  the  prefixes  of  this  Scene.  Those  to  Dogberry's 
speeches  have  generally  Kempe,  (once  misprinted  Keeper,) 
—  the  name  of  the  actor  who  performed  the  part,  —  some- 
times Const  [able'],  and  once  Andrew;  though  Kerai^e's 
name  was  "William,  and  no  actor  named  Andrew  is  known 
to  have  been  m  Shakespeare's  company.  The  speeches  of 
Verges  are  prefixed,  Coichy,  the  name  of  the  actor  who 
bore  that  part ;  and  the  Towne  Gierke  of  the  stage- dii-ection 
becomes  Sexton  in  the  prefixes.  The  folio  follows  the 
quarto,  though  -with  the  variations  of  orthography  com- 
mon at  the  time,  some  abbreviations,  and  one  substitution 
in  an  important  passage  noticed  below. 

"  "Marry,  that  am  I,"  &c.  : — This  is  the  speech  as- 

signed to  Andreic  in  the  old  copies. 

"  Yea,  sir,  we  hope  "  :  —  The  words  of  this  speech  ar.d 
the  next  between  brackets  are  found  only  in  the  quarto ;  — 
perhaps,  as  Blackstone  sviggested,  in  consequence  of  the 
statilte,  3  Jac.  I.  c.  21,  against  the  profane  emploj'ment 
of  the  name  of  the  Creator.  Mr.  Collier  suggests  that 
the  passage  might  have  been  omitted  because  it  was  "  an 
interpolation  of  the  actors."  It  probably  was  inserted  by 
an  actor  of  the  company  —  one  William  Shakespeare  : 
there  were  hardly  two  in  one  theatre  who  could  do  that. 
He  did  it  that  Dogberry  might  have  an  answer  to  the 
question  he  asks. 
VOL.   III.  V 


•338       MUCH  ADO   ABOUT  NOTHING,    act  iv. 


p.  295.     " and  brought  to  Leotiato"  :  —  The  quarto  has 

"  Leoiiatoes." 

p.  296.  "  Let  them  be,  in  the  hands  of  coxcomb  "  :  —  Thus  both 
folio  and  quarto  —  the  speech,  however,  being  erroneously 
assigned  in  the  quarto  to  "  Couley,"  (i.  e.,  Verges,)  and  in 
the  folio  to  the  "  Sex"  [ton].  The  error  in  the  first  case 
was  caused  by  a  manifest  and  very  natural  mistake  of 
the  printer,  and  m  the  second  by  an  unavaiKng  attempt 
to  rectify  that  mistake.  The  prefixes  in  this  case  are  im- 
portant ;  for  it  is  only  to  a  neglect  to  examme  them  with 
the  care  which  becomes  an  editor  of  these  works,  that 
Theobald's  ingenious  disturbance  of  the  text,  (by  breaking 
this  speech  in  two  to  give  part  of  it  to  Verges  and  part 
to  Conracle,)  and  the  hitherto  universal  acquiescence  in 
this  violence  for  a  century  and  a  quarter,  can  be  attrib- 
uted. The  folio  is  jDlainly  incorrect  in  attributing  the 
speech  to  the  Sexton  ;  for  it  is  one  that  he  would  not 
make  ;  and  Dogberri/s  exclamation  at  it  shows  that  the 
Sexton  leaves  immediately  after  his  preceding  speech.  It 
is  equally  plain  that  it  does  not  belong  to  Verges  ;  for  he 
Avould  not  wish  to  make  it,  and  would  not  dare,  if  he 
wished.  But  must  it  therefore  be  given  in  fragments  to 
Verges  and  Conracle  i  No  :  becaxise,  as  a  whole,  it  is  en- 
tirely suited  to  the  jeering  Conracle  ;  and  in  the  MS.  from 
which  the  quarto  was  printed,  it  was,  M-ithout  a  doubt, 
assigned  to  him  by  the  abbreviated  prefix  Con.,  which 
being  mistaken  for  Cou.,  the  name  was  printed  Couley. 
Mr.  Dyce's  obsei-vation  that  "  two  prefixes,  each  begin- 
ning with  the  same  letter,  are  frequently  confounded  by 
transcribers  and  printers"  is  particularly  in  poiiit  here. 
The  great  probability  thus  shown  is  made  certainty  by 
the  facts,  that  the  names  of  characters  were  abbreviated 
or  printed  at  length  indifferently,  even  in  the  text,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  Act  II.  Sc.  2,  —  that  Conracle' s  name 
is  generally,  if  not  always,  abbreviated  Con.,  —  that  Cow- 
ley's is,  in  every  other  case  but  the  present,  except  one, 
printed,  both  in  quarto  and  folio,  Cowley,  —  and  that  the 
one  other  exceptional  case  is  in  the  verj'  next  sjDecch  but 
one,  "  Away  !  you're  an  ass,"  &c.,  which,  —  too  plainly 
Conracle' s  to  need  a  word  in  support  of  the  assignment  of 
it  to  him  that  has  been  made  silently,  or  with  mere  men- 
tion, by  all  editors,  —  has  yet,  in  both  quarto  and  folio,  the 
prefix  Cowley.  It  is  strange,  that,  as  in  the  latter  mstance 
every  one  who  has  thought  of  the  matter  has  been  cer- 
tain, and  justly  certain,  that  Couley  had  been  prmted 
for  Conracle,  in  the  former  no  one  has  hitherto  suspected 
the  same  mistake ;  which,  except  for  the  unaccountable 
and  bcwilderuig  attempt  in  the  folio  to  help  the  matter 


sc.  I.  NOTES.  339 

by  assigiiiiig  the  speech  to  the  Sexton,  is  just  as  patent. 
Theobald  read,  — 

"  Verff.     Let  them  be  in  the  hands  — 
Con.      Off,  Coxcomb  !  " 
Mr.  Corner's  foho  of  1632,  — 

"  Sex.     Let  them  be  hound. 
Borach.     Off'  coxcomb  !  " 

Capell,  — 

"  Verg.     Let  them  be  in  bands. 
Con.     Off,  coxcomb  !  " 


ACT    FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  297.     "  Nor  let  no  comforter  "  ;  —  Thus  the  quarto  :  the  folio 
misprints,  "  coraiort." 

"  "  And,  sorroto's  icag  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have,  "  And 

sorroic,  u-agge,"  &om  which  sense  cannot  be  extracted, 
and  for  which  the  text  is  an  easy  misprint.  Mr.  Collier 
would  have  "  sorrow,  wag  !  "  mean  '  sorrow,  away  !  ' 
which  it  might ;  but  what  a  Ime  of  disconnected  thoughts 
does  it  give  us  !  — 

•'  And,  sorrow,  away !  cry  hem,  when  he  should  groan." 
Mr.  Knight  reads,  — 

"And,  sorrow  wag,  cry,  —  hem  wheii  he  should  groan." 
But  beside  the  awkwardness  of  the  first  part  of  the  sen- 
tence, '  ciy  hem '  was  a  phrase  of  itself,  and  the  words 
must  not  "be  separated.  Dr.  Johnson,  by  a  bold  transpo- 
sition, obtained  a  good  sense  and  the  reading  which  has 
been  current  hitherto  :  — 

"  Cry  sorrow,  wag  !  and  hem  when  he  should  groan." 
But  although  articles,  prepositions,  and  pronouns  may  be 
supposed  to  have  been  accidentally  transposed,  it  "will  not 
do  thus  to  shift  the  important  words  of  a  sentence  from 
beginning  to  middle ;  or  we  could  make  any  passage  mean 
anything.  Heath  proposed,  "And  sorrowmy."  Capell 
read,  "  Bid  sorrow  wag,"  &c.  All  the  attempts  at  emen- 
dation have  rested  on  the  assumption  that  '  wag '  is  a 
verb,  or  represents  one,  except  Steevens',  who  read,  "And, 
sorry  wag;  "  but  is  it  not  plain  that  Leonato  calls  the  man 
who  m  his  affliction  smiles  and  strokes  his  beard,  hems, 
patches  grief  -w-ith  proverbs,  and  drowns  it  in  midnight 
revelry,  '  sorrow's  wag  '  ? 

p.  298.     "  And  made  a  push  "  ;  —  an  old  form  of  '  pish.' 


340        MUCH   ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING,      act   v. 

p.  298.      " di-uiik  Avith  candle-wasters  "  ;  —  A  term  applied 

to  those  who  sat  up  late  at  night ;  arid  here  plainly  mean- 
ing midnight  roisterers. 

p.  299.      " than  advertisement  "  :  —  instruction. 

p.  300.     " iashion-monff'rinff  hoys  "  :  —  Folio  and  4to.  have 

"  motiging,"  which  may  he  an  old  form  of  the  word. 

p.  301.  "Enter  Benedick  "  :  — Benedick  enters  here  in  the  old 
copies,  and  not  just  after  the  brothers  go  out,  as  he  is 
usually  made  to  do.  It  is  the  more  natural  and  uncon- 
strained arrangement. 

"  " draw,  as  we  do  the  minstrels  "  :  —  i.  e.,  draw 

their  bows  "  to  pleasure  us." 

p.  302.  " this  last  was  broke  cross  "  :  —  Shakespeare  him- 
self has  funiished  the  best  explanation  of  tliis  tilting 
phrase  in  As  You  Like  It,  Act  II.  Sc.  4  :  "  —  swears  brave 
oaths,  and  breaks  them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart 
the  heart  of  his  lover  ;  as  a  puiiy  tiltcr,  that  spurs  his 
horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  his  staff  like  a  noble  goose." 

"  " how  to  tu7-n  Ms  girdle  "  :  —  i.  e.,  how  get  at  his 

sword-hilt. 

p.  303.  '^  Enter  Dogbeuky,"  &c.  :  —  Here,  as  on  the  previous 
entrance  of  Benedick,  the  more  natural  arrangement  of 
the  foUo  has  been  set  aside  :  in  this  case,  to  make  Dogberry 
enter  and  speak  at  once. 

p.  304.      •' ne'er  weigh  more  reasons,"  &c.  :  — It  must  be 

remembered,  as  in  reading  Fahtaff  s  "  If  reasons  were  as 
plenty  as  blackberries,"  that  'raisin'  used  to  be  pro- 
nounced as  we  now  pronounce  '  reason.'  The  custom  has 
not  entirely  passed  away. 

"  " your  brother  incensed  me,"   &c.  :  —  inflamed, 

instigated — so  used  in  Richard  III.,  Act  III.  Sc.  1,  and 
in  Henry  VIII.,  Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

p.  305.  "  Art  thou  the  slave  "  :  —  The  folio  repeats  '  thou  '  — 
obviously  by  accident. 

p.  306.      " was  pack'd  "  : —  i.  c.,  compact,  combined  in  all 

this  wrong.     So  in  Comedy  of  Errors,  Act  V.  Sc.  1  :  — 
"  The  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  her, 
Could  witness  it;  for  he  was  with  me  then." 

p.  307.  "  God  save  the  foundation  !  "  —  This  phrase  was  usi;d 
by  those  who  received  assistance  from  benevolent  institu- 
tions or  foundations. 

p.  308.  "  —  with  this  leird  fellow"  :  — As  there  is  some  dis- 
agreement with  regard  to  the  meaning  of  '  lewd  '  here,  it 
is  proper  to  remark  that  the  word  iirst  appears  in  our  kui- 


sc.   III.  NOTES.  341 

guagc  meaning  merely  '  ignorant,'  of  which  numberless 
instances  might  be  given  ii-om  Robert  of  Gloviccstcr,  Piers 
Plouglmian,  Wiclif,  and  Chaucer.  It  then  became,  very 
naturally,  a  sjTionpne  for  the  lay  people  as  opposed  to 
the  clergy  —  clerks  ;  and  of  course  the  sense  of  '  wicked,' 
'  depraved,'  as  opposed  to  '  holy,'  was  inevitably  soon  at- 
tached to  it.  This  appears  to  be  its  signitication  here, 
and  also  in  the  passage  (^Acts  xvii.  5,)  "  certaiii  lewd  fel- 
lows of  the  baser  sort."  The  limitation  of  the  word  to 
the  sense  of  '  lascivious '  is  arbitrary,  unwarranted,  and 
quite  modem. 

p.  308.  " shall  I  always  keep  below  stairs  r  "  —  Mr.  Sing- 
er i^lausibly  suggests  that  we  should  read,  "  keep  t/iem 
below  stairs."  Under  the  circumstances,  hoAvcver,  Mar- 
garet's  wit  may  limit  the  purposes  for  which  she  would 
go  above  staii's. 

"  "I  give  thee  the  bucklers  " ;  —  i.  e.,  I  give  thee  the 

victory,  —  my  shield  as  well  as  yours. 

p.  309.  "  The  god  of  love"  :  —  Steevens  says  that  this  is  the 
beginning  of  an  old  ballad  by  AVilliam  Elderton.  It  is 
prmted  as  prose  in  folio  and  quarto. 

"  " for  I  cannot  woo,"  &c. :  —  The  quarto  has  "  nor." 

"  " \\ith.  that  I  came  [for]  "  :  —  Both  the  old  edi- 

tions omit  '  for,'  which  was  supplied  by  Howe. 

p.  311.  "  Yonder's  old  coil  at  home  "  :  —  "We  have  seen  before 
{^Merry  Wices,  Act  I.  Sc.  4)  that  '  old'  was  an  augmen- 
tative :  '  coU  '  meant  '  confusion.' 

Scene  III. 

"  "  It  is.  my  lord  "  :  —  This  reply  is  assigned  to  an  at- 

tendant "  Lord"  in  folio  and  quarto.  The  heading,  "  Eji- 
itaph,"  is  uj)on  the  same  Ime  ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  Claudio  reads  the  verses  which  he  has  brought  to 
hang  upon  the  tomb  of  hLs  mistress.  The  Imes,  "  Now 
unto  thy  bones,"  &c.,  which  can  belong  to  none  but  him, 
have  the  prefix  "Lo." 

p.  312.         .  ♦'  Heavenhj,  heavenly." 

The  quarto  has,  by  a  naisprint  Avhich  may  almost  be 
called  obvious,  "  heavily,  heavily ;  "  the  mistake  being 
caused  by  a  supposition  that  this  Une  was  meant  for  a 
repetition  of  the  third  above.  This  reading,  however, 
although  destructive  of  the  fine  sense  that  death  is  to 
be  uttered  (i.  e.,  expelled,  outer-ed)  by  the  power  of 
Heaven,  and  indeed  of  all  sense  whatever,  has  yet  been 


342       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING,     act  v. 

adopted  by  most  modern  editors  ;  and  it  is  advocated  by 
Mr.  Dyce,  because  "  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposi- 
tion," {Hamlet,  Act  II.  So.  2,)  is  misprinted,  "it  goes  so 
heavenly,"  &c.,  in  the  folio  ! 

Scene  IV. 
p.  313.      <<  [Here  comes,"  &c.] :  —  The  folio  omits  this  line. 

p.  314.  '<  This  same  is  she,"  &c. :  —  Theobald,  who  has  been 
followed  by  almost  all  editors,  gave  this  speech  to  Antonio. 
Folio  and  quarto  assign  it  to  Leonato ;  and  as  he  had  al- 
ready, in  the  first  Scene  of  this  Act,  offered  and  prom- 
ised the  hand  of  his  pretended  niece  to  Claudio,  there 
can  be  surely  nothing  more  improper  in  his  giving  it 
to  her. 

p.  315.  "  One  Hero  died  [defil'd]  "  :  —  The  folio  omits  '  de- 
fil'd.'  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632  reads  <  beliecW  —  a  spe- 
cious suggestion  ;  but  the  correctness  of  the  old  word  is 
established  by  the  remainder  of  Hero's  speech  : 

'<  but  I  do  live. 
And  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid." 

"  " [for]  they  swore  you  did  "  :  —  The  old  copies 

omit  '  for.'  Hanmer  inserted  it,  and  it  was  found  in  Mr. 
Collier's  folio  of  1632.  There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that 
tliis  was  proper,  especially  as  '  deceived,'  which  is  con- 
tracted in  the  corresponding  line  below,  is  not  contracted 
in  this,  thereby  rendermg  one  syllable  necessary  to  the 
rhythm.     In  the  folio  this  speech  is  printed  as  prose. 

"  "  They  swore  that  you,"  &c. :  —  The  folio  omits  '  that ' 

in  this  and  in  the  next  line,  and  '  such  '  in  the  third. 

p.  316.  "  Peace  !  I  will  stop  your  mouth  "  :  —  In  folio  and 
quarto  this  speech  has  the  prefix  Leon. ;  but  the  en-or  is 
too  plain  to  permit  us  to  defer,  with  Mr.  Collier,  to  their 
authority.  How  was  Leonato  to  stop  Beatrice  s  mouth  ? 
and  why,  if  Leonato  stopped  it,  does  the  Prince  immedi- 
ately cry,  "How  dost  thou.  Benedick,  the  quarried  man?" 

"  " for  [what]  I  have  said  against  it  "  :  —  The  folio 

omits  '  what.' 


LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST. 


(M2) 


E., 


¥* 


•^ 

.^^:^ 


"A  PLEASANT  Conceited  Comedie  called,  Loues  labors     '•; 
lost.     As  it  was  presented  before  her  Highnes  this  last  Christ-  ^ 

mas.  Newly  corrected  and  augmented  By  IV.  Shakespere.  Im- 
printed at  London  by  \V.  W.  for  Cutbert  Burbij."  1598.  4to. 
38  leaves. 

Love's  Labour's  Lost  occupies  twenty-three  pages  in  the  folio 
of  1623,  viz.,  from  p.  122  to  p.  144,  inclusive,  in  the  division  of 
Comedies.  It  is  there  divided  into  Acts,  but  not  into  Scenes, 
and  is  without  a  list  of  Dramatis  Personse,  which  was  first  sup- 
plied by  Howe. 


(344) 


4''    "i-\j^i' 


LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST. 


INTRODUCTION. 


COLERIDGE'S  opinion  in  favor  of  the  very  early  production 
of  Love's  Labour's  Lost  has  been  quoted  by  most  recent  ed- 
itors ;  buti  surely  no  intelligent  and  observant  reader  can  need 
the  aid  of  so  eminent  a  critic  to  establish  in  him  the  behef  that 
this  play  is  among  the  first  that  Shakespeare  wrote.  No  other 
seems  to  present  so  many  claims  to  be  considered  the  very  first 
that  he  composed  entirely.  The  earliest  known  edition  is  the 
quarto  of  1598  ;  but  as  the  copy  from  which  this  professes  to  be 
printed  was  "  newly  corrected  and  augmented,"  in  order  to  its 
presentation  at  Court,  that  date  is  but  the  limit  before  which  it 
must  have  been  originally  written,  successfully  performed,  and 
partly  rewritten  ;  so  that  the  mention  of  it  by  Meres,  in  the 
same  year,  is  of  no  consequence.  This  correction  and  augmen- 
tation, too,  diminished  the  amount  of  internal  evidence  as  to  the 
early  writing  of  the  play  in  its  original  form ;  for  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  Shakespeare  applied  the  knife  to  those  parts  which 
bore  ri(iost  unmistakable  marks  of  youth  and  inexperience,  and 
that  what  he  added  was,  in  style  at  least,  worthy  of  him  iia  his 
thirty-fifth  year.  These  latter  passages  hardly  any  intelligent 
reader  can  fail  to  detect  when  told  that  they  exist.  The  end  of 
the  fifth  Act,  after  the  aimoimcement  of  the  death  of  the  King 
of  France,  is  one  of  them  ;  and  there  accident  left  trace  of  the 
alteration  to  which  the  play  had  been  subjected,  in  the  printing 
of  a  passage  which  was,  or  which  should  have  been  erased,  be- 
cause it  w'as  superseded  by  an  augmentation  of  the  identical 
thought  in  another  and  a  more  appropriate  place.  But  had  there 
been  an  edition  previous  to  the  correction,  its  date  would  hardly 
reach  back  to  that  of  the  production  of  the  comedy,  which  was 
probably  not  later  than  1588. 

The  reasons  for  believing  it  to  be  the  earliest  of  its  author's 
V  2  (345) 


346  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST. 

entii-ely  original  plays  arc,  —  the  unfitness  of  the  subject  for 
dramatic  treatment,  and  the  want  of  experience  shown  in  the 
conduct  of  the  plot  and  the  arrangement  of  stage  effect ;  in  both 
which  points  it  is  much  inferior  to  either  The  Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona  or  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  one  of  which  must  be  its  rival 
for  the  honor  of  being  Shakespeai-e's  maiden  effort  as  a  di-amatic 
author  :  —  the  purely  external  and  verbal  character  of  the  faults 
and  foibles  at  which  its  satire  is  aimed,  even  in  its  very  title ; 
which  are  just  such  as  would  excite  the  spleen  of  a  very  young 
man  who  to  genius  added  common  sense,  and  who  had  just  com- 
menced a  literary  career  :  —  the  fact  that  when  Shakespeare  was 
from  twenty  to  twenty-five  years  old,  the  affectation  in  speech 
knoM-n   as   Euphuism  was  at  its  height ;  Euphites  his  England 
having  been  published  in  I08O  :  —  the  inferiority  of  all  the  char- 
acters in  strong  original  traits,  even  to  those  of  The  Tioo  Gentle- 
men of  Verona  or  The  Comedy  of  Errors  ;  Armado  alone  having  a 
clear  and  well  defined  individuality,  and  his  figure,  though  deft- 
ly drawn,  being  somewhat  common-place  in   kind  for  Shake- 
speare, while  Birone,  Rosaline,   and  Dull  are  rather  germs  of 
character    than   characters  :  —  the   use   of  couplets,    alternate 
rhymes,  and  even  doggerel  in  the  more  dignified  parts  of  the 
work  :  —  the  fact  that  Monarcho,  who  is  alluded  to  in  Act  IV. 
Sc.  1,  died  before  1580  ;  as  we  know  by  Churchyard's  epitaph 
upon  him,  bearing  that  date  :  —  and,  last  not  least,  as  it  appears 
to  me,  in  the  innovating  omission  of  a  professed  Fool's  or  Jester's 
part  from  the  list  of  dramatis  personse  ;  for  it  is  ever  the  ambi- 
tious way  of  youthful  genius  to  aim  at  novelty  of  form  m  its  first 
essays,  while  yet  in  treatment  it  falls  unconsciously  into  a  vein 
of  reminiscence ;    afterward  it  is  apt  to  return  to  established 
forms,  and  to  show  origmality  in  treatment.     So  Shakespeare, 
on  the  rebound,  (for  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  it  is  safe  to  say,  was 
never  popular,)  put  two  Fools  into  both  The  Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona  and  The  Comedy  of  Errors ;    and  afterward,  in  nearly  all 
his  comedies,  and  even  in  some  of  his  grandest  tragedies,  he  in- 
troduced this  character,  so  essential  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  large 
part  of  the  audience  for  which  he  wrote ;  asserting  his  plastic 
power  over  his  own  genius  by  moulding  his  wit,  his  humor,  his 
pathos,  and  his  wisdom  into  forms  which  find  fit  utterance  be- 
neath the  Jester's  cap  and  chime  with  the  tinkle  of  his  bells. 

No  source  of  the  plot  of  Love's  Labour's  Lost  has  been  dis- 
covered ;  but  that  the  play  is  founded  upon  some  older  work,  its 
undraniatic  character,  its  needless  fuhiess  of  detail,  its  air  of 


INTRODUCTION.  347 

artificial  romance,  aiid  the  attribution  of  particular  personal 
traits —  such  as  black  eyes  and  a  dark  complexion  to  one,  great 
size  to  another,  and  a  face  pitted  with  the  small-pox  to  another 
of  the  ladies,  and  the  merely  incidental  hints  that  one  of  the 
king's  friends  is  an  officer  in  the  army  and  extremely  }"outhful  — 
seem  unmistakable  evidence ;  and  that  the  story  is  of  French 
origin,  is  as  clearly  shown  by  the  nationality  of  the  titles,  the 
Gallicism  of  calling  a  love-letter  a  capon,  the  appearance  of  the 
strong  French  negative,  point,  twice,  and  the  use  of  seigneur  in- 
stead of  '  signior.'  Mr.  Collier  supposes,  with  some  reason,  that 
the  appearance  of  Arniado  and  Holofernes  in  the  dramatis  per- 
sonae  is  indicative  of  an  acquaintance  with  the  early  Italian 
drama,  in'  which  the  Spanish  braggart  and  the  pedant  were 
stereotyped  characters  ;  but  Warburton's  declaration,  that  the 
latter  was  a  satire  on  John  Florio,  rests  vipon  assumptions  not 
worthy  of  serious  attention. 

As  there  never  was  a  Ferdinand,  King  of  Navarre,  and  history 
records  no  mortgage  of  any  part  of  France  to  Navarre  for  war 
expenses,  the  period  of  the  action  is  quite  indeterminable.* 
The  costume  may  therefore  be  the  French  dress  of  any  period 
before  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  for  all  the  characters 
except  Armaclo  (whose  plumage  should  show  some  Spanish  feath- 
ers) and  Sir  Nathaniel,  Holofernes,  and  Dull,  who  are  plainly  an 
English  curate,  an  Enghsh  schoolmaster,  and  an  English  third- 
borough  of  Shakespeare's  time. 

The  text  of  this  play  is  but  slightly  corrupted,  and  that  in 
unimportant  passages,  in  either  the  folio  or  the  quarto  edition. 
A  rej^etition  of  certaua  errors  shows  that  the  former  was  printed 
from  a  copy  of  the  latter.  Mr.  Collier  remarks  truly  that  the 
folio  adds  some  errors  of  its  own  ;  but  he  does  not  remark  —  per- 
haps because  he  failed  to  observe  —  that  it  corrects  a  great  many 
more  than  it  makes.  There  are  also  variations  which  came  from 
another  source  than  the  quarto ;  and  thus  it  is  plain  that  al- 
though the  folio  itself  was  not  exempt  from  accidents,  these  do 
not  invaliciate  its  authenticity,  or  exempt  us  from  the  obligation 
to  accept  its  deliberate  changes  as  authoritative,  and  to  regard 
the  quarto  only  as  auxihary  to  the  formation  of  the  text. 

*  Tlie  Rev.  Joseph  Hunter  bas,  however,  pointed  out  a  passage  in  Monstrelcfg 
Chronicles,  which  mentions  a  negotiation  between  the  King  of  France  and  a 
Charles  of  Navarre,  that  resulted  in  the  obligation  of  the  former  to  pay  the 
latter  two  hundred  thousand  crowns.    New  lllustratiims,  &c.,  Vol.  I.  p.  256. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 
Ferdinand,  King  of  Navarre. 

BiRONE,  I 

LoNGAViLLE,  V  Lords,  attending  on  the  King. 

DUMAINE,         J 

BOYET,  1  _, 

■.r  >  Lords,  attending  on  the  Princess  q/"  France. 

Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  a  Spaniard. 

Sib  Nathaniel,  a  Curate. 

Holofernes,  a  Schoolmaster. 

Dull,  a  Constable. 

Costard,  a  Clown. 

Moth,  ]or  Mote,]  Page  to  Armado. 

A  Forester. 

Princess  of  France. 

Rosaline,      "l 

Maria,  \  Ladies,  attending  on  the  Princess. 

Katharine,  J 

Jaquenetta,  a  country  Wench. 

Officers  and  others,  attendants  on  the  King  and  Princess. 

SCENE:   Navarre. 

'348) 


LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST. 


ACT    I. 

ScEXE  I. — Navarre.     A  Park,  near  a  Palace. 

Enter  the  King,  Birone,  Longaville,  and 
Dtjmaine. 


\-  Kino. 

I  "T    ET  fame,  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives, 

■.  I  A    Live  register' d  upon  our  brazen  tombs, 

And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death ; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring  Time, 
Th'   endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honour  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen  edge. 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 
Therefore,  brave  conquerors  !  —  for  so  you  are, 
That  war  against  your  own  affections, 
And  the*  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires,  — 
Our  late  edict  shall  strongly  stand  in  force. 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  \vorld  : 
Our  Court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art. 
You  three,   Birone,   Dumaine,  and  Longaville, 

(349) 


350  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  ACT   I. 

Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to   live  witli  me, 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes 
That  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here : 
Your  oaths  are  past,  and  now  subscribe  your  names. 
That  his  own  hand  may  strike  his  honour   down 
That  violates  the  smallest  branch  herein. 
If  you  are  arm'd  to  do,  as  sworn  to  do, 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oaths,  and  keep  it  too. 

Longaville.     I  am  resolv'd  :   'tis  but  a  three  years' 
fast  : 
The  mind  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine. 
Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates  ;    and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  but  bankerout  the  wits. 

Dumaine.     My  loving  lord,  Dumaine  is   mortified. 
The  grosser  manner  of  these  world's    delights 
He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves  : 
To  love,   to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die. 
With  all  these  living  in  philosophy. 

Birone.     I  can  but  say  their  protestation  over ; 
So  much,   dear  liege,  I  have  already  sworn, — 
That  is.  To  live  and  study  here  three  years. 
But  there  are  other  strict  observances  ; 
As,  not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term. 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there : 
And  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food, 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside. 
The  which,  I  hope,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And  then,  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night. 
And  not  be  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day, 
(When  I  was  wont  to  think  no  harm  all  night, 
And  make  a  dark  night,  too,  of  half  the  day,) 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there. 
O  !    these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to   keep, 
Not  to  see  ladies,   study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King.    Your  oath  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these. 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  351 

Bir.     Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  an  if  you  please. 
I  only  swore  to  study  with  your  Grace, 
And  stay  here  in  your  Court  for  three  years'  space. 

Long.     You  swore  to  that,  Birone,  and  to  the  rest. 

Bir.      By  yea,  and  nay,  sir,  then  I  swore  in  jest. 
What  is  the  end  of  study,  let  me  know  ? 

King.     Why,  that  to  know  which  else  we  should 
not  know. 

Bir.     Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from  com- 
mon sense  r 

King.     Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense. 

Bir.      Come  on,  then  :    I  Avill  swear  to  study  so. 
To  know  the  thing  I  am  forbid  to  know  : 
As  thus,  —  to  study  where  I  well  may  dine. 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid  ; 
Or  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine. 

When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid ; 
Or,  having  sworn  too  hard-a-keeping  oath. 
Study  to  break  it,  and  not  break  my  troth. 
If  study's  gain  be  thus,  and  this  be  so. 
Study  knows  that  which  yet  it  doth  not  know. 
Swear  me  to  this,  and  I  will  ne'er  say  no. 

King.     These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite, 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

Bir.     Why,  all  delights  are  vain ;    and  that  most 
vain. 
Which,  with  pain  purchas'd,  doth  inherit  pain  : 
As,  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book. 

To  seek  the  light  of  truth  ;    while  truth,  the  while, 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look. 

Light,   seeking  light,  doth  light  of  light  beguile  : 
So,  ere  you  find  where  light  in  darkness   lies, 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 
Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed. 

By  fixing  it  upon  a  fairer  eye ; 


352  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  act  i. 

Who  dazzling  so,  that  eye  shall  be  his  heed, 

And  give  him  light  that  it  was  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun, 

That  will  not  be  deep-search' d  with   saucy  looks  : 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 

Save  base  authority  from  others'   books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights, 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fixed  star. 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights 

Than  those  that  walk,  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know  is  to  know  naught  but  fame  ; 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

King.     How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against  read- 
ing! 

Dum.     Proceeded  well,  to   stop   all   good  proceed- 
ing ! 

Long.     He  weeds  the  corn,  and  still  lets  grow  the 
weeding. 

Bir.     The  Spring  is  near  when  green  geese  are  a 
breeding. 

Dum.     How  follows  that  ? 

Bir.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time. 

Dum.     In  reason  nothing. 

Bir.  Something,  then,  in  rhyme. 

King.     Birone  is  like  an  envious  sneaping  frost. 
That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  Spring. 

Bir.     "Well,  say  I   am  :    why  should   proud  Sum- 
mer boast. 
Before  the  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing? 
Why  should  I  joy  in  any  abortive  birth  ? 
At  Christmas  I  no  more  desire  a  rose 
Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  shews. 
But  like  of  each  thing  that  in  season  grows. 
So  you  to  study  now  ;  —  it  is  too  late  : 
That  were  to  climb  the  house  o'er  to  unlock  the  gate. 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  353 

King.      Well,    sit    you    out  :     go    home,    Birone  : 
adieu ! 

Bir.     No,  my  good  lord ;    I  have   sworn    to    stay 
with  you  : 
And,  though  I  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more 

Than  for  that  angel  knowledge  you  can  say. 
Yet  confident  I'll  keep  what  I  have  swore, 

And  bide  the  penance  of  each  three  years'  day. 
Give  me  the  paper  :    let  me  read  the  same  ; 
And  to  the  strict"st  decrees  I'll  write  my  name. 

King.     How  well    this  yielding  rescues  thee   from 
shame  ! 

Bir.  [Reads.]  "  Item  :  That  no  woman  shall  come 
within  a  mile  of  my  Court.'"  Hath  this  been  pro- 
claimed ? 

Long.     Four  days  ago. 

Bir.  Let's  see  the  penalty.  \_Reads.~\  "  On  pain 
of  losing  her  tongue.''' — Who  devis'd  this   penalty? 

Long.     Marry,  that  did  I. 

Bir.  Sweet  lord,  and  why  ? 

Long.     To  fright  them  hence  with  that  dread  pen- 
alty. 

Bir.  A  dangerous  law  against  gentility  !  \_Reads.'] 
"  Item  :  If  any  man  he  seen  to  talk  ivith  a  woman  with- 
in the  term  of  three  years,  he  shall  endure  such  public 
shame  as  the  rest  of  the  Court  shall  possibly  de- 
vise." 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  break  ; 

For,  well  you  know,  here  comes  in  embassy 
The  French  King's  daughter  with  yourself  to  speak,  — 

A  maid  of  grace,  and  complete  majesty, — 
About  surrender  up  of  Aquitain 

To  her  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father  : 
Therefore,  this  article  is  made  in  vain. 

Or  vainly  comes  th'  admired  Princess   hither. 

VOL.   III.  w 


354  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  act  i. 

King.     What  say  you,  lords  ?  why,  this  was  quite 
forgot. 

Bir.     So  study  evermore  is  overshot : 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would. 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should ; 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'Tis  won,  as  towns  with  fire  ;    so  won,  so   lost. 

King.    We  must  of  force  dispense  with  this  decree  : 
She  must  lie  here,  on  mere  necessity. 

Bir.     Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn 

Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years'  space; 
For  every  man  with  his  afi'ects  is  born  ; 

Not  by  might  master'd,  but  by  special  grace. 
If  I  break  faith,   this  word  shall  speak  for  me, 
I  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity.  — 
So  to  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name  ;     \^Subscribes. 

And  he  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree, 
Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame. 

Suggestions  are  to  others  as  to  me  ; 
But,  I  believe,  although  I  seem  so  loath, 
I  am  the  last  that  will  last  keep  his   oath. 
But  is  there  no  quick  recreation  granted  ? 

King.     Ay,  that  there  is.     Our  Court,  you  know, 
is  haunted 

With  a  refined  traveller  of  Spain ; 
A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted, 

That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain  : 
One,  who  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish  like  enchanting  harmony  ; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny  : 
This  child  of  fancy,  that  Armado  hight, 

For  interim  to  our  studies  shall  relate 
In  high-born  words  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 


sc. 


LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  355 


How  you  delight,  my  lords,   I  know  not,  I, 
But,  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie. 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy. 

Bir.     Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new  words,  fashion's  own  knight. 

Long.     Costard,   the    swain,    and  he   shall   be   our 
sport ; 
And  so  to  study; — three  years  is  but  short. 

Enter  Duli,,  with  a  letter,  and  Costard. 

Dull.    Which  is  the  Duke's  own  person  ? 

Bir.     This,  fellow.     What  would'st  ? 

Dull.  I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I  am 
his  Grace's  tharborough  :  but  I  would  see  his  own 
person  in  flesh  and  blood. 

Bir.     This  is  he. 

Dull.  Signior  Arme  —  Arme  —  commends  you. 
There's  villainy  abroad  :  this  letter  will  tell  you 
more. 

Costard.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touch- 
ing me. 

King.     A  letter  from  the  magnificent  Armado. 

Bir.  How  low  soever  the  matter,  I  hope  in  God 
for  high  words. 

Long.  A  high  hope  for  a  low  having  :  God  grant 
us  patience  I 

Bir.     To  hear,  or  forbear  laughing  ? 

Long.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  moder- 
ately,  or  to  forbear  both. 

Bir.  '  Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  us 
cause  to  climb  in  the  merriness. 

Cost.  The  matter  is  to  me,  sir,  as  concerning 
Jaquenetta.  The  manner  of  it  is,  I  was  taken  with 
the  manner. 

Bir.     In  what  manner  ? 


356  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  act  i. 

Cost.  In  manner  and  form  following,  sir  ;  all  those 
three  :  I  was  seen  with  her  in  the  manor  house,  sit- 
ting with  her  upon  the  form,  and  taken  following 
her  into  the  Park  ;  which,  put  together,  is  in  man- 
ner and  form  following.  Now,  sir,  for  the  manner, 
—  it  is  the  manner  of  a  man  to  speak  to  a  woman ; 
for  the  form,  —  in  some  form. 

Bir.     For  the  following,  sir  ? 

Cost.  As  it  shall  follow  in  my  correction ;  and 
God  defend  the  right  ! 

King.     Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention  ? 

Bir.     As  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Cost.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken 
after  the  flesh. 

King.  [Reads.]  "  Great  Deputy,  the  welkin  s  vice- 
gerent, and  sole  dominator  of  Navarre,  my  souVs 
earth's  God,  and  body's  fostering  patroUf  —  " 

Cost.     Not  a  word  of  Costard  yet. 

King.     "  So  it  is, — " 

Cost.  It  may  be  so  ;  but  if  he  say  it  is  so,  he  is, 
in  telling  true,  but  so. 

King.      Peace  ! 

Cost.  —  be  to  me,  and  every  man  that  dares  not 
light. 

King.     No  words. 

Cost.     —  of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 

King.  "  So  it  is,  besieged  jvith  sable-coloured  mel- 
ancholy, I  did  commend  the  black-oppressing  humour 
to  the  most  wholesome  physic  of  thy  health-giving  air ; 
and,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  betook  myself  to  walk.  The 
time  when?  About  the  sixth  hour;  when  beasts  most 
graze,  birds  best  peck,  and  men  sit  doion  to  that  nour- 
ishment which  is  called  supper.  So  much  for  the  time 
when.  Noio  for  the  ground  which ;  which,  I  mean,  I 
walk'd  upon  :   it  is  ycleped  thy  Park.      Then  for  the 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  357 

■place  where ;  where,  I  mean,  I  did  encounter  that  ob- 
scene  and  most  preposterous  event,  that  draweth  from 
my  snow-white  pen  the  ebon-coloured  ink,  which  here 
thou  viewest,  beholdest,  surveyest,  or  seest.  But  to  the 
place,  ivhere :  —  it  standeth  north-north-east  and  by 
east  from  the  west  corner  of  thy  curious-knotted  gar- 
den :  there  did  I  see  that  low-spirited  swain,  that  base 
minnow  of  thy  mirth,  —  " 

Cost.     Me. 

King.    "  —  that  unlettered  small-knowing  soul,  —  " 

Cost.     Me. 

King.    "  —  that  shallow  vassal,  —  " 

Cost.     Still  me. 

King.    "  —  which,  as  I  remember,  highl  Costard,  —  "' 

Cost.     O  !    me. 

King.  "  —  sorted  and  consorted,  contrary  to  thy 
established  proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon,  with 
—  with,  —  0  /  with  —  but  with  this  I  passion  to  say 
wherewith,  —  " 

Cost.     With,  a  wench. 

King.  "  —  with  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve, 
a  female ;  or,  for  thy  more  sweet  understanding,  a 
woman.  Him  I  {as  my  ever-esteemed  duty  pricks  me 
on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  receive  the  meed  of  punish- 
ment, by  thy  sioeet  Grace's  officer,  Anthony  Bull,  a  man 
of  good  repute,  carriage,  bearing,  and  estimation.''' 

Dull.    Me,  an't  shall  please  you  :  I  am  Anthony  Dull. 

King.  "  For  Jaquenetta,  {so  is  the  weaker  vessel 
called,)  which  I  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid  sivain, 
I  keep  her  as  a  vessel  of  thy  law's  fury  ;  and  shall,  at 
the  least  of  thy  siveet  notice,  bring  her  to  trial.  Thine, 
in  all  complemetits  of  devoted  and  heart-burning  heat 
of  duty.  DoiV  Adriano  de  Armado.'" 

Bir.  This  is  not  so  well  as  I  looked  for,  but  the 
best  that  ever  I  heard. 


358  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         ACT  I. 

King.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst.  —  But,  sirrah, 
what  say  you  to  this  ? 

Cost.     Sir,  I  confess  the  wench. 

King.    Did  you  hear  the  proclamation  ? 

Cost.  I  do  confess  much  of  the  hearing  it,  but 
little  of  the  marking  of  it. 

King.  It  was  proclaimed  a  year's  imprisonment 
to  be  taken  with  a  wench. 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none,  sir :  I  was  taken 
with  a  damosel. 

King.    Well,  it  was  proclaimed  damosel. 

Cost.  This  was  no  damosel  neither,  sir  :  she  was 
a  virgin. 

King.  It  is  so  varied,  too,  for  it  was  proclaimed 
virgin. 

Cost.  If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity :  I  was 
taken  with  a  maid. 

King.    This  maid  Avill  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 

Cost.     This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King.  Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence  :  you 
shall  fast  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  moneth  with  mutton 
and  porridge. 

King.     And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper.  — 
My  lord  Birone,  see  him  deliver' d  o'er  : 
And  go  we,  lords,  to  put  in  practice  that 
Which  each  to  other  hath  so  strongly  sworn. 

\^Eiiemit  King,  Longaville,  and  Dumaine. 

Bir.  I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat, 
These  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn.  — 
Sirrah,  come  on. 

Cost.  I  suffer  for  the  truth,  sir  ;  for  true  it  is,  I 
was  taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenctta  is  a  true 
girl ;    and,  therefore,  welcome  the  sour  cup  of  pros- 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  359 

perity  I     Affliction  may  one  day  smile  again ;   and  un- 
til then,   Sit  down,  Sorrow  !  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  II. 
The  Park,  near  Akmado's  House. 

Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 

Armado.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it,  when  a  man  of  great 
spirit  grows  melancholy  ? 

Moth.    A  great  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Arm.  Why  ?  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-same 
thing,  dear  imp. 

Moth.    No,  no  ;    O  lord  !   sir,  no. 

Arm.  How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melan- 
choly, my  tender  juvenal  ? 

Moth.  By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  working, 
my  tough  seigneur. 

Arm.      Why  tough  seigneur  ?    why  tough  seigneur  ? 

Moth.    Why  tender  juvenal?  why  tender  juvenal? 

Arm.  I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  as  a  congruent 
epitheton  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which  we 
may  nominate  tender. 

Moth.  And  I,  tough  seigneur,  as  an  appertinent 
title  to  your  old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Arm.      Pretty,  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you,  sir  ?  I  pretty,  and  my  say- 
ing apt ;    or  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Arm.  '  Thou  pretty,  because  little. 

Moth.    Little  pretty,  because  little.  Wherefore  apt  ? 

Arm.     And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moth.    Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master  ? 

Arm.     In  thy  condign  praise. 

Moth.    I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 


360  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act   i. 

Arm.     What,  that  an  eel  is  ingenious  ? 

Moth.    That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Ann.     I  do  say,  thou  art  quick  in  answers.     Thou 
heat'st  my  blood. 

Moth.    I  am  answer'd,   sir. 

Arm.     I  love  not  to  be  cross'd. 

Moth.     [Aside.']     He   speaks    the    mere    contrary : 
crosses  love  not  him  ? 

Arm.     I   have   pro  mis' d  to  study  three  years  with 
the   Duke. 

Moth.    You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Ayyn.     Impossible. 

Moth.    How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Arm.     I  am  ill  at  reck'ning  :    it  fitteth  the   spirit 
of  a  tapster. 

Moth.    You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

Arm.  I  confess  both  :  they  are  both  the  varnish 
of  a  complete  man. 

Moth.  Then,  I  am  sure,  you  know  how  much  the 
gross  sum  of  deuce-ace  amounts  to. 

Arm.     It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two.' 

Moth.    Which  the  base  vulgar  [do]  call  three. 

Arm.     True. 

Moth.  Why,  sir,  is  'this  such  a  piece  of  study  ? 
Now  here's  three  studied  ere  you'll  thrice  wink  ;  and 
how  easy  it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  three,  and 
study  three  years  in  two  words,  the  dancing  horse 
will  tell  you. 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure  ! 
Moth.  [Aside.]  To  prove  you  a  cipher. 
Ar7}i.  I  will  hereupon  confess  I  am  in  love ;  and, 
as  it  is  base  for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love 
with  a  base  wench.  If  drawing  my  sword  against 
the  humour  of  affection  would  deliver  me  from  the 
reprobate  thought  of  it,  I  would  take  desire  prison- 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  361 

er,  and  ransom  him  to  any  French  courtier  for  a 
new  devis'd  court'sy.  I  think  scorn  to  sigh  :  me- 
thinks,  I  should  out-swear  Cupid.  Comfort  me,  boy. 
What  great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.    Hercules,  master. 

Arm.  Most  sweet  Hercules  !  —  More  authority, 
dear  boy,  name  more  ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them 
be  men  of  good  repute  and  cai'riage. 

Moth.  Samson,  master  :  he  was  a  man  of  good 
carriage,  great  carriage  ;  for  he  carried  the  town-gates 
on  his  back,  like  a  porter ;    and  he  was  in  love. 

Arm.  O  well-knit  Samson  !  strong-jointed  Sam- 
son !  I  do  excel  thee  in  my  rapier,  as  much  as  thou 
didst  me  in  carrying  gates.  I  am  in  love,  too.  Who 
was  Samson's  love,  my  dear  Moth  ? 

Moth.    A  woman,  master. 

Arm.      Of  what  complexion  ? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two, 
or  one  of  the  four. 

Arm.     Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion. 

Moth.    Of  the  sea-water  green,  sir. 

Arm.     Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions  ? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir ;  and  the  best  of  them 
too. 

Arm.  Green,  indeed,  is  the  colour  of  lovers  ;  but 
to  have  a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks,  Samson  had 
small  reason  for  it.  He,  surely,  affected  her  for  her 
wit. 

Moth.    It  was  so,  sir,  for  she  had  a  green  wdt. 

Arm.    -My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red. 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are  mask'd 
under  such  colours. 

Arm.     Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth.  My  father's  wit,  and  my  mother's  tongue, 
assist  me  ! 

W2 


362  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  act   I. 

Arm.  Sweet  invocation  of  a  child ;  most  pretty, 
and  pathetical  ! 

Moth.    If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red, 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known  ; 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred. 

And  fears  by  pale-white  shown  : 
Then,  if  she  fear,  or  be  to  blame. 

By  this  you  shall  not  know ; 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same. 
Which  native  she  doth  owe. 
A    dangerous    rhyme,  master,  against    the   reason    of 
white  and  red. 

Arm.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and 
the  Beggar  ? 

Moth.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  bal- 
lad some  three  ages  since,  but,  I  think,  now  'tis  not 
to  be  found  ;  or,  if  it  were,  it  would  neither  serve 
for  the  writing,  nor  the  tune. 

Arm.  1  will  have  that  subject  newly  writ  o'er, 
that  I  may  example  my  digression  by  some  mighty 
precedent.  Boy,  I  do  love  that  country  girl,  that  I 
took  in  the  Park  with  the  rational  hind  Costard  : 
she  deserves  well. 

Moth.  [Aside.^  To  be  whipp'd  ;  and  yet  a  bet- 
ter love  than  my  master. 

Ar7n.     Sing,  boy  :   my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 
Moth.    And    that's    great    marvel,    loving    a    light 
wench. 

Arm.     1  say,  sing. 

Moth.    Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Costard,  and  Jaquenetta. 

Dull.  Sir,  the  Duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep 
Costard  safe :  and  you  must  let  him  take  no  delight, 
nor  no  penance ;  but  'a  must  fast  three  days  a  week. 


sc.    II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  363 

For  this  damsel,  I  must  keep  her  at  the  Park  ;    she 
is  allow'd  for  the  day-woman.     Fare  you  well. 

Arm.     I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing.  —  Maid. 

Jaquenefta.     Man. 

Ar)n.    I  will  visit  thee  at  the  Lodge. 

Jaq.     That's  hereby. 

Arm.    I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaq.     Lord,  how  wise  you  are  ! 

Arm.    I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaq.     With  that  face? 

Arm.    I  love  thee. 

Jaq.     So  I  heard  you  say. 

Arm.    And  so  farewell. 

Jaq.     Fair  weather  after  you ! 

Dull.    Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[^Exeunt  Dull  and  Jaquenktta. 

Arm.     Villain,  thou  shalt  fast  for  thy  offences,  ere 
thou  be  pardoned. 

Cost.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do 
it  on  a  full  stomach. 

Arm.     Thou  shalt  be  heavily  punished. 

Cost.  I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  follow- 
ers ;   for  they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

Ar77i.     Take  away  this  villain :    shut  him  up. 

Moth.    Come,  you  transgressing  slave  :    away  ! 

Cost.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir :  I  will  fast, 
being  loose. 

Moth.  No,  sir ;  that  were  fast  and  loose  :  thou 
shalt  to  prison. 

Cost.  'Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of 
desolation  that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  see  — 

Moth.    What  shall  some  see? 

Cost.  Nay,  nothing.  Master  Moth,  but  what  they 
look  upon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  [too]  silent 
in  their  words ;   and  therefore  I  will  say  nothing  :   T 


•^^  ^   ^1^ 


364  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  act  i. 

thank  God  I  have  as  little  patience  as  another  man, 
and  therefore  I  can  be  quiet. 

[^Exeunt  Moth  and  Costakd. 
Ar7n.  I  do  affect  the  very  ground,  (which  is  base,) 
where  her  shoe,  (which  is  baser,)  guided  by  her  foot, 
(which  is  basest,)  doth  tread.  I  shall  be  forsworn, 
(which  is  a  great  argument  of  falsehood,)  if  I  love  ; 
and  how  can  that  be  true  love  which  is  falsely  at- 
tempted ?  Love  is  a  familiar  ;  Love  is  a  devil  :  there 
is  no  evil  angel  but  Love.  Yet  was  Samson  so  tempt- 
ed ;  and  he  had  an  excellent  strength  :  yet  was  Sol- 
omon so  seduced  ;  and  he  had  a  very  good  wit. 
Cupid's  butt-shaft  is  too  hard  for  Hercules'  club,  and 
therefore  too  much  odds  for  a  Spaniard's  rapier.  The 
first  and  second  cause  will  not  serve  my  turn :  the 
passado  he  respects  not,  the  duello  he  regards  not : 
his  disgrace  is  to  be  called  boy  ;  but  his  glory  is  to 
subdue  men.  Adieu,  valour  !  rust,  rapier  !  be  still, 
drum !  for  your  manager  is  in  love ;  yea,  he  loveth. 
Assist  me,  some  extemporal  god  of  rhyme  !  for,  I  am 
sure,  I  shall  turn  sonnets.  Devise,  wit !  write,  pen  ! 
for  I  am  for  whole  volumes  in  folio.  \_Exit. 


w 


.•Ki^ 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  365 


ACT    II. 

Scene  I. — Another  Part  of  the  Park.     A  Pavilion 
and  Tents  at  a  distance. 

Enter  the   Princess   of  France,  Rosaline,  Maria, 
Katharine,  Boyet,   Lords,  and   Attendants. 

Bo  YET. 

NOW,  Madam,  summon  up  your  dearest  spirits. 
Consider  whom  the  King  your  father  sends, 
To  whom  he  sends,  and  what's  his  embassy  : 
Yourself,  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem. 
To  parley  with  the  sole  inheritor 
Of  all  perfections  that  a  man  may  owe, 
Matchless  Navarre ;   the  plea  of  no  less  weight 
'Than  Aquitain,  a  dowry  for  a  Queen. 
Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace 
As  nature  was  in  making  graces   dear. 
When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside. 
And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  you. 

Princess.     Good   Lord    Boyet,  my  beauty,  though 
but  mean. 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise  : 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye. 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues. 
I  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth 
Than  you  much  willing  to  be  counted  wise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker.  —  Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  fame 
Doth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hath  made  a  vow. 
Till  painful  study  shall  out-wear   three  years, 


366  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.        act  ii. 

No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  Court : 

Therefore  to  's  seemeth  it  a  needful  course, 

Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gates, 

To  know  his  pleasure  ;   and  in  that  behalf. 

Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 

As  our  best  moving  fair  solicitor. 

Tell  him  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  France, 

On  serious  business,  craving  quick  despatch. 

Importunes  personal  conference  with  his  Grace. 

Haste,  signify  so  much ;   while  we  attend. 

Like  humble-visag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet.     Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go. 

lExit. 

Prin.    All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  yours  is  so. — 
Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords. 
That  are  vow-fellows  with   this  virtuous  Duke  ? 

1   Lord.     Longaville  is  one. 

Prin.  Know  you  the  man  ? 

Maria.     I    know    him.     Madam  :     at    a    marriage 
feast. 
Between  Lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
Of  Jaques  Falconbridge,  solemnized 
In  Normandy,  saw  I  this  Longaville. 
A  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteem' d ; 
Well  fitted  in  arts,  glorious  in  arms  : 
Nothing  becomes  him  ill  that  he  would  well. 
The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss. 
If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil. 
Is  a  sharp  wit  match' d  with  too   blunt  a  will  ; 
Whose    edge    hath    power    to    cut,    whose    will    still 

wills 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within   his  power. 

Prin.     Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike  ;    is't  so? 

Mar.     They  say  so    most  that   most   his    humours 
know. 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  367 

Prin.      Such    short-liv'd    wits    do    wither    as    they 
grow. 
Who  are  the  rest? 

Katharine.     The    young    Dumaine,    a   well-accom- 
plish'd  youth, 
Of  all  that  virtue  love,  for  virtue  lov'd  : 
Most  power  to  do  most  harm,  least  knowing  ill. 
For  he  hath  wit  to  make  an  ill  shape  good, 
And  shape  to  win  grace  though  he  had  no  wit. 
I  saw  him  at  the  Duke  Alencon's  once  ; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  I  saw 
Is  my  report  to  his  great  worthiness. 

Rosaline.     Another  of  these  students  at  that  time 
Was  there  with  him,  if  I  have  heard  a  truth. 
Birone  they  call  him ;   hut  a  merrier  man. 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's   talk  withal. 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest, 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  expositor) 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words. 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his   tales. 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished, 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 

Prin.     God  bless  my  ladies  !    are  they  all  in  love, 
That  every  one  her  own  hath   garnished 
With  such  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Mar.     Here  comes  Boyet. 

Enter  Boyet. 

Prin.  Now,  what  admittance,  lord? 

Boyet.     Navarre  had  notice  of  your  fair  approach  ; 
And  he  and  his  competitors  in  oath 
Were  all  address'd  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady, 


368  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.        act  ii. 

Before  I  came.     Marry,  thus  much  I  have   learn'd, 

He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field, 

Like  one  that  comes  here  to  besiege  his  Court, 

Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath, 

To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 

Here  comes  Navarre.  _  \_The  ladies  mask. 

Enter  King,  Longayille,  Dumaine,  Bikone,  and 

Attendants. 

King.  Fair  Princess,  welcome  to  the  Court  of  Na- 
varre. 

Prin.  Fair,  I  give  you  back  again  ;  and  welcome 
I  have  not  yet :  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too  high  to 
be  yours,  and  welcome  to  the  wide  fields  too  base  to 
be  mine. 

King.  You  shall  be  welcome.  Madam,  to  my 
Court. 

Prin.  I  will  be  welcome  then.  Conduct  me 
thither. 

King.     Hear  me,  dear  lady  :    I  have  sworn  an  oath. 

Prin.     Our  Lady  help  my  lord  !  he'll  be  forsworn. 

King.    Not  for  the  world,  fair  Madam,  by  my  will. 

Prin.     Why,  will  shall  break  it ;   will,  and  noth- 
ing else. 

King.     Your  ladyship  is  ignorant  what  it  is. 

Prin.     Were  my  lord  so,  his  ignorance  were  wise. 
Where  now  his  knowledge   must  prove   ignorance. 
I  hear  your  Grace  hath  sworn  out  house-keeping  : 
"Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord, 
And  sin  to  break  it. 

But  pardon  me  ;    I  am  too  sudden-bold  : 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  coming. 
And  suddenly  resolve  me  in  my  suit.     [^Giiws  a  paper. 

King.     Madam,   I   will,  if  suddenly  I    may. 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  369 

Prin.     You  will  the  sooner  that  I  were  away, 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd  if  you  make  me  stay. 

Bir.      Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Ros.     Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Bir.     I  know  you   did. 

Ros.  How  needless  was  it  then. 

To  ask  the  question  ! 

Bir.  You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Ros.     'Tis  'long   of  you,  that  spur  me  with    such 
questions. 

Bir.     Your  wit's  too  hot ;    it  speeds  too  fast ;   'twill 
tire. 

Ros.     Not  till  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire. 

Bir.     What  time  o'  day  ? 

Ros.     The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 

Bir.     Now  fair  befall  your  mask  ! 

Ros.     Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers  ! 

Bir.     And  send  you  many  lovers  ! 

Ros.     Amen,  so  you  be  none. 

Bir.     Nay,  then  will  I  begone. 

Kitig.     Madam,  your  father  here  doth  intimate 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  ; 
Being  but  th'  one  half  of  an  entire  sum, 
Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wars. 
But  say  that  he,  or  we,   (as  neither  have,) 
Received  that  sum,  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  thousand  more  ;    in  surety  of  the  which, 
One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us. 
Although  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth. 
If,  then, -the  King  your  father  will  restore 
But  that  one  half  which  is  unsatisfied. 
We  will  give  up  our  right  in  Aquitain, 
And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his   Majesty. 
But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth. 
For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 

VOL.   III.  X 


370  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act   ii. 

An  hundred  thousand  crowns  ;    and  not  demands. 

On  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns, 

To  have  his  title  live  in  Aquitain ; 

Which  we  much  rather  had  depart  withal, 

And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent, 

Than  Aquitain,  so  gelded  as  it  is. 

Dear  Princess,  were  not  his  requests  so  far 

From  reason's  yielding,  your  fair  self  should  make 

A  yielding,   'gainst  some  reason  in  my  breast. 

And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  again. 

Pri7i.    You  do  the  King  my  father  too  much  Avrong, 
And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name, 
In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 

King.     I  do  protest,   I  never  heard  of  it ;  .::X^, 

And,  if  you  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back,  ■'Si^"' 

Or  yield  up  Aquitain.  J; 

Prin.  We  arrest  your  word.  i 

Boyet,  you  can  produce  acquittances 
For  such  a  sum,  from  special  ofiicers 
Of  Charles,  his  father. 

King.  Satisfy  mo  so. 

Boyet.     So   please   your   Grace,  the  packet  is  not 
come. 
Where  that  and  other  specialties  are  bound  : 
To-morrow  you  shall  have  a  sight  of  them. 

King.     It  shall  suffice  me  :    at  which  intervioAV, 
All  liberal  reason  would  I  yield  unto. 
Mean  time,  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand, 
As  honour,   without  breach  of  honour,   may 
Make  tender  of   to  thy  true  worthiness. 
You  may  not  come,  fair  Princess,  in  my  gates ; 
But  here  without  you  shall  be  so  recciv'd. 
As  you  shall  deem  yourself  lodg'd  in  my  heart. 
Though  so  deni'd  fair  harbour  in  mv  house. 


sc.    I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  371 

Your  own  good  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell : 
To-morrow  we  shall  visit  you  again. 

Prin.     Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your 

Grace  ! 
King.     Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place  ! 

\_Exeunt  King  and  his  train. 
Bir.    Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  mine  own  heart. 
Ros.     Pray  you,    do   my   commendations ;    I   would 
be  glad  to  see  it. 

Bii'.     I  would,  you  heard  it  groan. 
Ros.     Is  the  fool  sick  ? 
Bir.     Sick  at  the  heart. 
Ros.     Alack  !    let  it  blood. 
Bir.     Would  that  do  it  good  ? 
'jK>I       Ros.     Mv  physic  says,  av. 
i;.?^'       Bir.     AVill  you  prick't  with  your  eye  r 
^'jY  Ros.     No  point,  with  my  knife. 

Bir.      Now,  God  save  thy  life  ! 
Ros.     And  yours  from  long  living  ! 
Bir.     I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.       [  They  retire. 
Du/n.     Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word.     What  lady  is  that 

same  ? 
Boyet.     The  heir  of  Alencon,  Katharine  her  name. 
Dum.     A  gallant  lady.     Monsieur,  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 
Long.     I  beseech  you  a  word.     What  is  she  in  the 

white  ? 
Boyet.     A  woman  sometimes,  if  you  saw  her  in  the 

light. 
Long.-    Perchance,  light  in  the  light.     I  desire  her 

name. 
Boyet.     She  hath  but    one    for  herself;    to   desire 

that,  were  a  shame. 
Long.      Pray  you,  sir,  whose  daughter  ? 
Boyet.    Her  mother's,  I  have  heard. 


372  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        ACT  ii. 

Long.     God's  blessing  on  your  beard  ! 

Boyet.     Good  sir,  be  not  offended. 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridge. 

Long.     Nay,  my  choler  is  ended. 
She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 

Boyet.    Not  unlike,  sir  :   that  may  be.     \_Exit  Long. 

Bir.     What's  her  name,  in  the  cap  ? 

Boyet.     Rosaline,  by  good  hap. 

Bir.      Is  she  wedded,  or  no  ? 

Boyet.     To  her  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Bir.      O  !    you  are  Avelcome,  sir.     Adieu. 

Boyet.     Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 
\_Exit  BiRONE.  —  Ladies  unmask. 

Mar.     That  last  is  Birone,  the  merry  mad- cap  lord : 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 

Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Prin.     It  was  well  done  of  you  to  take  him  at  his 
word. 

Boyet.     I  was  as  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to 
board. 

Mar.     Two  hot  sheeps,  marry  ! 

Boyet.  And  wherefore  not  ships  ? 

No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  your  lips. 

Mar.     You  sheep,  and  I  pasture  :    shall    that   fin- 
ish the  jest  ? 

Boyet.     So  you  grant  pasture  for  me. 

\_Ojfering  to  kiss  her. 

Mar.  Not  so,  gentle  beast. 

My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be. 

Boyet.     Belonging  to  whom  ? 

Mar.  To  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.      Good  wits  will  be  jangling  ;    but,  gentles, 
agree. 
This  civil  war  of  wits  were  much  better  us'd 
On  Navarre  and  his   book-men,  for  here  'tis  abus'd. 


«.-*-v 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  373 

Boyet.     If  my  observation,  (which  very  seldom  lies,) 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetoric,  disclosed  with  eyes. 
Deceive  me  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected. 
Prin.     With  what? 
■^  Boyet.    With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle  affected. 

Prin.     Your  reason  ? 

Boyet.    Why,    all    his    behaviours    did    make    their 
retire 
To  the  court  of  his  eye,  peeping  thorough  desire  : 
His  heart,  like  an  agate,  with  your  print  impressed. 
Proud  with  his  form,  in  his  eye  pride  expressed  : 
i  '     His  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see, 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eye-sight  to  be  ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  make  their  repair. 
To  feel  only  looking  on  fairest  of  fair, 
■ir-^  Methought,  all  his  senses  were  lock'd  in  his  eye, 
►        As  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy; 
i.* :  Who,  tend' ring    their   own  worth,   from  whence  they 
were  glass' d. 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
r       His  face's  own  margent  did  quote  such  amazes, 
*       That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes. 
I'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his, 
An  you  give  him,  for  my  sake,  but  one  loving  kiss. 
Prin.      Come  to  our  pavilion :    Boyet  is  dispos'd. 
Boyet.      But  to  speak  that  in  words  which  his  eye 
hath  disclos'd. 
I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye. 
By  adding  a  tongue,  which  I  know  will  not  lie. 
Ros.     Thou  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speakest 

skilfully. 
Mar.     He  is  Cupid's  grandfather,  and  learns  news 

of  him. 
Ros.     Then   was   Venus    like   her   mother,    for   her 
father  is  but  grim. 


374  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act  iii. 

Boyet.     Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  ? 
Mar.  No. 

Boyet.  What  then,  do  you  see  ? 

Ros.     Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 
Boyet.  You  are  too  hard  for  me. 

\_Exeunt. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Same. 
Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 

An  M  ADO. 

WARBLE,  child  :    make  passionate  my  sense  of 
hearing. 

Moth  sings.  —  Concolinel. 

Arm.  Sweet  air!  —  Go,  tenderness  of  years:  take 
this  key,  give  enlargement  to  the  swain,  bring  him 
festinately  hither ;  I  must  employ  him  in  a  letter  to 
my   love. 

Moth.  Will  you  win  your  love  with  a  French 
brawl  r 

Arm.     How  meanest  thou  ?   brawling  in  French  ? 

Moth.  No,  my  complete  master ;  but  to  jig  off  a 
tune  at  the  tongue's  end,  canary  to  it  with  the  feet ; 
humour  it  with  turning  up  your  eye ;  sigh  a  note, 
and  sing  a  note,  sometime  through  the  throat,  as  if 
you  swallowed  love  with  singing  love,  sometime 
through  the  nose,  as  if  you  snufF'd  up  love  by 
smelling  love ;  with  your  hat  penthouse-like,  o'er  the 
shop  of  your  eyes  ;   with  your  arms  cross'd  on  your 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  375 

thin  belly  doublet,  like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit ;  or  your 
hands  in  your  pocket,  like  a  man  after  the  old  paint- 
ing ;  and  keep  not  too  long  in  one  tune,  but  a  snip 
and  away.  These  are  complements,  these  are  hu- 
mours ;  these  betray  nice  wenches,  that  would  be 
betrayed  without  these,  and  make  them  men  of  note, 
(do  you  note,  men?)  that  most  are  affected  to  these. 

Ann.     How  hast  thou  purchased  this  experience : 

Moth.    By  my  penny  of  observation. 

Ar?n.     But  O,  —  but  O,  — 

Moth.    —  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

Ari?i.     Call'st  thou  my  love  hobby-horse  ? 

Moth.  No,  master ;  the  hobby-horse  is  but  a  colt, 
and  your  love,  perhaps,  a  hackney.  But  have  you 
forgot  your  love  ? 

Arm.     Almost  I  had. 

Moth.    Negligent  student !    learn  her  by  heart. 

Arm.     By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth.  And  out  of  heart,  master ;  all  those  three 
I  will  prove. 

A}'fn.     What  wilt  thou  prove  ? 

Moth.  A  man,  if  I  live  :  and  this,  by,  in,  and 
without,  upon  the  instant  :  by  heart  you  love  her, 
because  your  heart  cannot  come  by  her ;  in  heart 
you  love  her,  because  your  heart  is  in  love  with 
her ;  and  out  of  heart  you  love  her,  being  out  of 
heart  that  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

Artn.     I  am  all  these  three. 

Moth.  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet 
nothing  at  all. 

Arm.  Fetch  hither  the  swain  :  he  must  carry  me 
a  letter. 

Moth.  A  message  well  sympathiz'd  :  a  horse  to 
be  ambassador  for  an  ass. 

Arm.     Ha,  ha  !    what  sayest  thou  ? 


■'*,^ 


376  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S    LOST.      act   hi,    ^. 

Moth.     Marry,   sir,  you    must    send   the    ass    upon 
the  horse,  for  he  is  very  slow-gaited  :    but  I  go. 

Arm.     The  way  is  but  short.     Away  ! 

Moth.     As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Ar77i.     Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious  ? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,   dull,  and  slow  ? 

Moth.  Minime,  honest  master ;  or  rather,  master, 
no. 

Arm.     I  say,  lead  is   slow. 

Moth.  You  are  too  swift,   sir,  to  say  so  : 

Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fir'd  from  a  gun? 

Arm.     Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric  ! 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon ;  and  the  bullet,  that's  he  :  — 
I  shoot  thee  at  the  swain. 

Moth.  Thump,  then,  and  I  flee.       ^Exit. 

Arm.     A  most  acute  juvenal;  voluble  and  free  of 
grace  ! 
By  thy  favour,  sweet  welkin,  I  must  sigh  in  thy  face  : 
Most  rude  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 
My  herald  is  return' d. 

Enter  Moth  with  Costakd. 

Moth.  A  wonder,  master  !  here's  a  Costard  broken 
in  a  shin. 

Arm.  Some  enigma,  some  riddle :  come,  —  thy 
V envoy  ;  —  begin. 

Cost.  No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  I'envoy  !  no  sah-e 
in  them  all,  sir :  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain ! 
no  Veitvoii,  no  I'envoy  :   no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain. 

Arm.  By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laughter ;  thy  silly 
thought,  my  spleen  ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs  pro- 
vokes me  to  ridiculous  smiling.  O,  pardon  me,  my 
stars  !  Doth  the  inconsiderate  take  salve  for  V envoy, 
and  the  word  I'envoy  for  a  salve  ? 

Moth.  Do  the  wise  think  them  other  ?  is  not  Ven- 
voy  a  salve  ? 


n 


sc.   I.  LOYE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  377 

Ar7)i.     No,  page  :    it  is  an  epilogue,  or  discourse, 
to  make  plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hatli  tofore  been  sain. 
I  will  example  it : 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
There's  the  moral :   now  the  Venvoy. 

Moth.      I    will    add    the    Venvoy.      Say    the    moral 

again. 
Arm.     The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
Moth.     Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door. 

And  stay'd  the  odds  by  [makjing  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow  with 
my  Venvoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
Arm.     Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door. 

Staying  the  odds  by  [mak]ing  four. 
Moth.     A  good  Venvoy,  ending  in  the  goose.    Would 
you  desire  more  ? 

Cost.      The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose, 
that's  flat.  — 
Sir,   your   penny-worth   is    good,    an    your    goose    be 

fat.— 
To    sell    a   bargain  well  is  as   cunning    as   '  fast    and 

loose '  : 
Let  me  see,  a  fat  Venvoy  ;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 
Arm.     Come    hither,  come    hither.     How  did   this 

argument  begin  r 
Moth.     By  saying  that  a  costard  was  broken  in  a 
shin. 
Then  call'd  you  for  the  Venvoy. 

Cost.     True,  and  I  for  a  plantain  ;   thus  came  your 


argument  m 


x2 


378  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.       act   hi. 

Then  the  boy's  fat  V envoy,  the  goose  that  you  bought. 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Arm.     But    tell    me  ;    how    was    there    a    costard 
broken  in  a  shin  ? 

Moth.     I  will  tell  you  sensibly. 

Cost.  Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it,  Moth :  I  will 
speak  that  Venvoy. 

I,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within, 
Fell  over  the  threshold,  and  broke  my  shin. 

Arm.     We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 

Cost.     Till  there  be  more  matter  in  the  shin. 

Arm.     Sirrah  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  thee. 

Cost.  O  !  marry  me  to  one  Frances  ?  —  I  smell 
some  Tenvoy,  some  goose,  in  this. 

Arm.  By  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee  at 
liberty,  enfreedoming  thy  person  :  thou  wert  im- 
mured, restrained,   captivated,  bound. 

Cost.  True,  true ;  and  now  you  will  be  my  pur- 
gation,  and  let  me  loose. 

Arm.  I  give  thee  thy  liberty,  set  thee  [free]  from 
durance  ;  and,  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  noth- 
ing but  this  :  bear  this  significant  to  the  country  maid 
Jaquenetta.  There  is  remuneration  ;  for  the  best  ward 
of  mine  honour  is  rewarding  my  dependants.  Moth, 
follow.  lExit. 

Moth.  Like  the  sequel,  I.  — Seigneur  Costard,  adieu. 

Cost.     ]My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh  !    my  incony 
Jew  !  —  [_Exit  Moth. 

Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remunera- 
tion !  O !  that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings : 
three  farthings,  remuneration.  —  '  What's  the  price  of 
this  inkle  ?  a  penny  :  —  No,  Fll  give  you  a  remu- 
neration:  '  why,  it  carries  it.  —  Remuneration  !  —  why, 
it  is  a  fairer  name  than  French  crown.  I  will  never 
buy  and  sell  out  of  this  word. 


> 


SC.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  379 

Enter  Birone. 
Bir.     O,  my  good  knave  Costard  !  exceedingly  well 

met. 

Cost.     Pray  you,  sir,  how  much   carnation  ribbon 
may  a  man  buy  for  a  remuneration? 

Bir.     What  is  a  remuneration? 

Cost.     Marry,  sir,  half-penny   farthing. 

Bir.     O  !    why  then,  three-farthing-worth  of   silk. 

Cost.     I  thank  your  worship.     God  be  wi'  you. 

Bir.  O,  stay,  slave !  I  must  employ  thee : 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  good  my  knave, 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat. 

Cost.     When  would  you  have  it  done,  sir  ? 

Bir.     O  !    this  afternoon. 

Cost.     Well,  I  will  do    it,  sir.     Fare  you  well, 

Bir.     O  !   thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

Cost.     I  shall  know,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Bir.     Why,  villain,  thou  must   know  first. 

Cost.  I  will  come  to  your  worship  to-morrow 
morning. 

Bir.  It  must  be  done  this  afternoon.  Hark,  slave  ! 
It  is  but  this  :  — 

The  Princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  Park, 
And  in  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  lady  ; 
When    tongues    speak    sweetly,  then   they   name   her 

name, 
And  Rosaline  they  call  her  :    ask  for  her. 
And  to  her  white  hand  see  thou  do  commend 
This  seal'd-up  counsel.     There's  thy  guerdon :   go. 

Cost.  Gardon.  —  O  !  sweet  gardon  !  better  than 
remuneration ;  eleven-pence  farthing  better.  Most 
sweet  gardon  !  —  I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.  —  Gardon 
—  remuneration !  \_Exit. 


w 


.f   -^ 


380  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.      act  hi. 

Bir.     0  !  —  And  I,  forsooth,  in  love  !  I,  that  have 
been  Love's  whij) ; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 
A  critic,  nay,  a  night-watch  constable, 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy, 
Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent  ! 
This  wimpled,  whining,  purblind,   wayward   boy ; 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Don  Cupid  ; 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms, 
Th"  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents, 
Dread  prince  of  plackets,  king  of  cod-pieces, 
Sole  imperator,  and  great  general 
Of  trotting  paritors,   (O,  my  little  heart !) 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field, 
And  wear  his  colours,   like  a  tumbler's   hoop ! 
What  ?     I  love  !    I  sue  !    I  seek  a  wife  ! 
A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock. 
Still  a  repairing,  ever  out  of  frame, 
And  never  going  aright  ;   being   a  watch, 
But  being  watch' d,  that  it  may  still  go  right  ? 
Nay,   to  be  perjur'd,  which  is  worst  of  all  ; 
And,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all  ; 
A  witty  wanton  with  a  velvet  brow. 
With  two  pitch  balls  stuck  in  her  face  for  eyes  ; 
Ay,  and,  by  Heaven,  one  that  will  do  the  deed, 
Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard  : 
And  I  to  sigh  for  her  !   to  watch  for  her  ! 
To  pray  for  her !     Go  to  ;    it  is  a  plague 
That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 
Of  his  almighty  dreadful  little  might. 
Well,   I  will  love,  write,  sigh,  pray,   sue,  groan : 
Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and   some  Joan. 

[Exit. 


3!      %. 


« 


RC.   I.  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  381 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Same. 

Enter  the  Pkincess,  Rosaline,  Maria,  Kathakine, 
BoYET,  Lords,  Attendants,  and  a  Forester. 

Pris'cess. 

WAS    that    the  King,  that   spurr'd  his   horse    so 
hard 
Against  the  steep  uprising  of  the  hill  ? 

Boyet.     I  know  not ;   but,  I  think,  it  was  not  he. 

Prin.     Whoe'er    he    was,    he    show'd    a    mounting 
mind. 
Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  dispatch  : 
On  Saturday  we  will  retiirn   to  France.  — 
Then,  Forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murtherer  in  ? 

For.     Hereby,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice ; 
A  stand  where  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot. 

Prin.      I  thank  my  beauty,  I  am  fair  that  shoot. 
And  thereupon  thou  speak' st  the  fairest  shoot. 

For.     Pardon  me,  madam,  for  I  meant  not  so. 

Prin.    What,  what  ?  first  praise  me,  and  then  again 
say,  no  ? 
0,  short-liv'd  pride  !     Not  fair  ?    alack  for  woe  ! 

For.      Yes,  madam,  fair. 

Prin.    ■  Nay,  never  paint  me  now  : 

Where  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  this  for  telling  true. 

[^Giving  him  money. 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  than  due. 

For.     Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. 


382  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act  ir, 

Prin.     See,  see  !   my  beauty  will  be  sav'd  by  merit, 
0  heresy  in  fair,  fit  for  these  days  ! 
A  giving  hand,  though  foul,  shall  have  fair  praise.  — 
But  come,  the  bow  :  —  now  mercy  goes  to  kill, 
And  shooting  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 
Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot : 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 
That  more  for  praise  than  purpose  meant  to  kill. 
And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes  : 
Glory  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes. 
When,  for  fame's  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward    part. 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart ; 
As  I  for  praise  alone  now  seek  to  spill 
The  poor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 

Boyet.   Do  not  curst  wives  hold  that  self-sovereignty 
Only  for  praise'   sake,  when  they  strive  to  be  '";< 

Lords   o'er  their  lords  ? 

Pri7i.      Only  for  praise  ;   and  praise  we  may  afford 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  a  lord. 

Enter  Costakd. 

Here  comes  a  member  of  the  commonwealth. 

Cost.     God   dig-you-den   all.      Pray  you,  which  is 
the  head  lady  ? 

Prill.     Thou   shalt  know   her,  fellow,  by  the  rest 
that  have  no  heads. 

Cost.     Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest  ? 
Prin.     The  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 
Cost.     The  thickest,  and  the  tallest?  it  is  so  ;   truth 
is  truth. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit. 
One    o'    these   maids'   girdles    for    your    waist    should 

be  fit. 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman  ?  you  are  the  thickest 
here. 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  383 

Prill.     What's  your  will,  sir  ?    what's  your  will  ? 

Cost.     I  have  a  letter,  from  Monseer  Biron  to  one 
Lady  Rosaline. 

Prin.     O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter  !  he's  a  good  friend 
of  mine. 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer.  —  Boyet,   you  can  carve ; 
Break  up  this  capon. 

Boyet.  I  am  bound  to  serve. — 

This  letter  is  mistook  ;  it  importeth  none  here  : 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear. 

Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  give  ear. 

Boyet.  [Reads.]  "  By  Heaven,  that  thou  art  fair, 
is  most  infallible  ;  true,  that  thou  art  beauteous  ;  truth 
itself  that  thou  art  lovely.  More  fairer  than  fair, 
.  beautiful  than  beauteous,  truer  than  truth  itself,  have 
commiseration  on  thy  heroical  vassal  !  The  magnan- 
imous and  most  illustrate  King  Cophetua  set  eye  upon 
the  pernicious  and  indubitate  beggar  Penelophon  ;  and 
he  it  was  that  might  rightly  say,  Veni,  vidi,  vici ;  which 
to  annotanize  in  the  vulgar,  ( O  base  and  obscure  vul- 
gar !)  videlicet,  He  came,  saw,  and  overcame  :  he  came, 
one ;  saw,  two ;  overcame,  three.  Who  came  ?  the 
King ;  Why  did  he  come  J  to  see ;  Why  did  he  see  7 
to  overcome :  To  whom  came  he  7  to  the  beggar ;  What 
saw  he  J  the  beggar  ;  Who  overcame  he  ?  the  beggar. 
The  conclusion  is  victory  :  on  whose  side  J  the  King's  : 
the  captive  is  enrich' d  :  on  whose  side  ?  the  beggar's. 
The  catastrophe  is  a  nuptial :  on  whose  side  J  the 
King's  J  —  no,  on  both  in  one,  or  one  in  both.  I  am 
the  King ;  for  so  stands  the  comparison  :  thou  the 
beggar  ;  for  so  witnesseth  thy  lowliness.  Shall  I  com- 
mand thy  love  7  I  may.  Shall  I  enforce  thy  love  7  I 
could.  Shall  I  entreat  thy  love  7  I  will.  What  shalt 
thou  exchange  for  rags  7    robes  ;  for  tittles  7    titles  , 


384  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act   iv. 

for  thyself  7  me.  Thus,  expecting  thy  reply,  I  pro- 
fane my  lips  on  thy  foot,  my  eyes  on  thy  picture,  and 
my  heart  on  thy  every  part. 

Thine,  in  the  dearest  design  of  industry, 

Don  Adriano  de  Ahmado." 

"  Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Nemean  lion  roar 

'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his  prey  ; 

Submissive  fall  his  princely  feet  before, 
And  he  from  forage  will  incline  to  play  : 

But  if  thou  strive,  poor  .soul,  what  art  thou  then  ? 

Food  for  his  rage,  repasture  for  his  den." 

Prin.     What  plume  of  feathers  is  he  that  indited 
this  letter? 
What  vane  ?  what  weather-cock  ?    did  you  ever  hear 
better  ? 
Boyet.     I  am  much  deceiv'd,  but  1  remember  the 

style. 
Prin.     Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it  ere- 

while. 
Boyet.     This  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps  here 
in  Court ; 
A  phantasm,  a  Monarcho,  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  Prince,  and  his  book-mates. 

Prin.  Thou,  fellow,  a  word. 

Who  gave  thee  this  letter  ? 

Cost.  I  told  you  ;   my  lord. 

Prin.    To  whom  shouldst  thou  give  it  ? 
Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Prin.     From  which  lord  to  which  lady  ? 
Cost.     From    my   lord    Birone,    a    good   master   of 
mine. 
To  a  lady  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Rosaline. 

Prin.     Thou    hast    mistaken    his    letter.  —  Come, 
lords,  away.  — 


#  -> 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  385 

Here,  sweet,  put  up  this  :   "twill  be  thine  another  day. 

\_Exeunt  Princess  and   Train. 
Boyet.     Who  is  the  suitor  ?    who  is  the  suitor  ? 
Ros.  Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ? 

Boyet.     Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 
Ros.  Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow. 

Finely  put  off ! 

Boyet.     My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns  ;    but  if  thou 
marry, 
Hano-  me  by  the  neck,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry. 
Finely  put  on  ! 

Ros.     Well  then,  I  am  the  shooter. 
Boyet.  And  who  is  your  deer  ? 

Ros.     If  we  choose  by  the  horns,  yourself:    come 
not  near. 
Finely  put  on,  indeed  !  — 

Mar.     You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she 

strikes  at  the  brow. 
Boyet.     But  she  herself  is  hit  lower.     Have  I  hit 

her  now  ? 
Ros.     Shall  I  come  upon  thee  with  an  old  saying, 
that  was  a  man  when   King  Pepin  of  France  was  a 
little  boy,  as  touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Boyet.     So   I   may  answer   thee   with   one   as   old, 
that  was  a  woman  when  Queen  Guinever  of  Britain 
was  a  little  wench,  as  touching  the  hit  it. 
Ros.     *'  Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it. 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man." 
Boyet.     "  An  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot. 
An  I  cannot,  another  can." 

\_Exeunt  Ros.  and  Kath. 
Cost.     By  my  troth,  most  pleasant :   how  both  did 

fit  it! 
Mar.     A  mark  marvellous  well  shot ;   for  they  both 
did  hit  [it]. 

TOL.    III.  Y 


386  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       ACT  iv. 

Boyet.    A  mark  I   O  !  mark  but  that  mark  :   a  mark, 
says  my  lady. 
Let   the   mark   have    a   prick   in't,   to   mete    at,  if  it 
may  be. 
Mar.     Wide  o'  th'  bow  hand  :    i' faith  your  hand 

is  out. 
Cost.     Indeed,  'a  must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er 

hit  the  clout. 
Boyet.     An  if   my  hand  be  out,  then  belike  your 

hand  is  in. 
Cost.      Then  will    she   get   the  upshot   by  cleaving 

the  pin. 
Mar.     Come,  come,   you   talk   greasily ;    your  lips 

grow  foul. 
Cost.      She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir  :   chal- 
lenge her  to  bowl. 
Boyet.     I  fear  too  much  rubbing.     Good  night,  my 
good  owl.  \_Exeunt  Boyet  and  Maria. 

Cost.  By  my  soul,  a  swain  !  a  most  simple  clown ! 
Lord,  Lord  !  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him  down  I 
O'  my  troth,  most  sweet  jests  !    most   incony  vulgar 

wit! 
When  it  comes   so   smoothly  off,  so  obscenely,  as  it 

were,  so  fit. 
Armado  o'  the  to  side,  —  O,  a  most  dainty  man  ! 
To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady,  and  to  bear  her  fan ! 
To  see  him  kiss  his  hand  !  and  how  most  sweetly  'a 

will  swear  !  — 
And  his  page  o'  t"  other  side,  that  handful  of  wit ! 
Ah,  Heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit  ! 

\_Noise  of  shooting  within. 
Sola,  sola  !  [_Exit  Costard. 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  387 

Scene  II. 
The  Same. 

Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Nathaniel.  Very  reverend  sport,  truly  ;  and  done 
in  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 

Holofernes.  The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  sanguis, 
—  in  blood  ;  ripe  as  a  pomewater,  who  now  hangeth 
like  a  jewel  in  the  ear  of  coelo,  —  the  sky,  the  wel- 
kin, the  heaven :  and  anon  falleth,  like  a  crab,  on  the 
face  of  terra,  —  the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

Nath.  Truly,  Master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are 
sweetly  varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least  :  but,  sir, 
I  assure  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the  first  head. 

Hoi.      Sir  Nathaniel,  hand  credo. 

Dull.    'Twas  not  a  haud  credo,   'twas  a  pricket. 

Hoi.  Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of 
insinuation,  as  it  were,  i?i  via,  in  way  of  explication, 
facere,  as  it  were,  replication,  or,  rather,  ostentare, 
to  show,  as  it  were,  his  inclination,  —  after  his  un- 
dressed, unpolished,  uneducated,  unpruned,  untrained, 
or  rather  unlettered,  or,  ratherest,  unconfirmed  fash- 
ion, —  to  insert  again  my  haud  credo  for  a  deer. 

Dull.  I  said  the  deer  was  not  a  haud  credo  :  'twas 
a  pricket. 

Hoi.  Twice  sod  simplicity,  Ms  coctus  !  —  O,  thou 
monster  Ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look  I 

NatlC  Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that 
are  bred  in  a  book  ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it 
were ;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink  :  his  intellect  is  not 
replenished ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in 
the  duller  parts  ; 


388  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act  iv. 

And   such   barren  plants   are   set   before   us,  that  we 

thankful  should  be 
(Which  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those  parts 

that  do  fructify  in  us  more  than  he  : 
For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet, 

or  a  fool. 
So  were   there   a  patch   set   on   learning,  to  see   him 

in  a  school : 
But,  omne  bene,  say  I ;  being  of  an  old  father's  mind, 
'  Many  can  brook  the  weather,  that  love  not  the  wind.' 
Dull.     You  two  are   book   men  :    can   you   tell   by 
your  wit. 
What   was   a  month   old   at   Cain's   birth,  that's   not 
five  weeks  old  as  yet  ? 
Hoi.     Dictynna,  good-man  Dull ;   Dictynna,  good- 
man  Dull. 

Dull.     What  is  Dictynna  ? 

Nath.     A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 
Hoi.     The  moon  was  a  month  old  when  Adam  was 
no  more  ; 
And  raught  not  to  five  weeks,  when  he  came  to  five- 
score. 
Th'   allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.  'Tis  true  indeed  :  the  collusion  holds  in  the 
exchange. 

Hoi.  God  comfort  thy  capacity  !  I  say,  th'  allu- 
sion holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.  And  I  say  the  pollusion  holds  in  the  ex- 
change ;  for  the  moon  is  never  but  a  month  old  ;  and 
I  say  beside,  that  'twas  a  pricket  that  the  Princess 
kill'd. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal 
epitaph  on  the  death  of  the  deer  ?  and,  to  humour 
the  ignorant,  call  the  deer  the  Princess  kill'd,  a 
pricket  ? 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  389 

Nath.  Perge,  good  Master  Holofernes,  perge  ;  so 
it  shall  please  you  to  abrogate  scurrility. 

Hoi.  I  will  something  affect  the  letter,  for  it  ar- 
gues facility. 

The  preyful  Princess  piercd   and  pricWd   a  pretty 

pleasing  pricket ; 
Some  say  a  sore ;    but  not   a  sore,   till  now  made 

sore  with  shootiyig. 
The  dogs  did  yell ;  put  l  to   sore,  then  sorel  jumps 

from  thicket ; 
Or  pricket  sore,  or   else  sorel ;    the  people  fall  a 

hooting. 
If  sore  he  sore,  then  l  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores ;   O 

sore  L  ! 
Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make,  by  adding  but  one 

more  l. 

Nath.    A  rare  talent ! 

Dull.  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  claws 
him  with  a  talent. 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple ;  simply 
a  foolish  extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures, 
shapes,  objects,  ideas,  apprehensions,  motions,  revo- 
lutions :  these  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of  memory, 
nourished  in  the  womb  of  pia  mater,  and  delivered 
upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion.  But  the  gift  is  good 
in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute,  and  I  am  thankful  for  it. 

Nath.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you,  and  so  may 
my  parishioners  ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutor' d  by 
you,  and  •  their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under 
you  :   you  are  a  good  member  of  the  commonwealth. 

Hoi.  Mehercle  !  if  their  sons  be  ingenuous,  they 
shall  want  no  instruction ;  if  their  daughters  be  ca- 
pable, I  will  put  it  to  them ;  but,  vir  sapit,  qui  pauca 
loquitur.     A  soul  feminine  saluteth  us. 


390  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.       act  iv. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 

Jaq.     God  give  you  good  morrow,  Master  Person. 

Hoi.  Master  Person,  —  quasi  pers-on.  And  if  one 
should  be  pierc'd,   which  is  the  one  ? 

Cost.  Marry,  Master  Schoohnaster,  he  that  is  likest 
to  a  hogshead. 

Hoi.  Of  piercing  a  hogshead  !  a  good  lustre  of 
conceit  in  a  turf  of  earth  ;  fire  enough  for  a  flint, 
pearl  enough  for  a  swine  :    'tis  pretty ;    it  is  well. 

Jaq.  Good  Master  Parson,  be  so  good  as  read  me 
this  letter :  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent 
me  from  Don  Armado  :    I  beseech  you,  read  it. 

Hoi.     "  Fauste,  precor  gelidd   quando  pccus  omne 
sub  umbra 
Ruminat,''  —  and  so  forth.      Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  ! 
I  may  speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of  Venice : 

—  "  Venegia,  Venegia, 

Chi  nan  te  vede,  non  te  pregia." 

Old  Mantuan  !  old  Mantuan  !  Who  understandeth 
thee  not,  loves  thee  not.  —  Ut,  re,  sol,  la,  mi,  fa.  — 
Under  pardon,  sir,  what  are  the  contents }  or,  rath- 
er, as  Horace  says  in  his — What,  my  soul,  verses? 

Nath.     Ay,   sir,  and  very  learned. 

Hoi.  Let  me  hear  a  staff,  a  stanza,  a  verse  :  lege, 
domine. 

Nath.     [Reads.]     "  If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how 

shall  I  swear  to  lore  ? 
Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty  vowed  ! 
Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  Til  faithful  prove ; 
Those  thoughts  to  me  were  oaks,  to  thee  like  osiers 
bowed. 
Study  his  bias  leaver,  and  makes  his  book  thine  eyes, 
Where  all  those  pleasures  lire,  that  art  would  com- 
prehend : 


sc.   ri.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  391 

If  knowledge  he  the  mark,  to  knoxo  thee  shall  suffice. 
Well  learned  is  that  tongue,  that  well  can  thee  com- 
mend ; 
All  ignorant  that  soul,  that  sees  thee  loithout  ivonder ; 
Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  I  thy  parts  admire. 
Thy  eye  Jore's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his  dreadful 
thunder. 
Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  music,  and  sweet  fire. 
Celestial,  as  thou  art,   O  !  pardon,  love,  this  wrong. 
That   sings    Heaven's   praise    with    such    an    earthly 
tongue  ! 

Hoi.  You  find  not  the  apostrophes,  and  so  miss 
the  accent  :  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.  Here  are 
only  numbers  ratified  ;  but,  for  the  elegancy,  facility, 
and  golden  cadence  of  poesy,  caret.  Ovidius  Naso 
was  the  man  :  and  why,  indeed,  Naso,  but  for  smell- 
ing out  the  odoriferous  flowers  of  fancy,  the  jerks  of 
invention  ?  Imitari  is  nothing  :  so  doth  the  hound 
his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper,  the  'tired  horse  his 
rider.  But,  damosella,  virgin,  was  this  directed  to 
you? 

Jaq.  Ay,  sir,  from  one  Mounsier  Birone,  one  of 
the  strange  Queen's  lords. 

Hoi.  I  will  overglance  the  superscript.  "  To  the 
snoio-white  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady  Rosaline." 
I  will  look  again  on  the  intellect  of  the  letter,  for 
the  nomination  of  the  party  writing  to  the  person 
written  unto  :  "  Your  ladyship's,  in  all  desired  em- 
ployment,  'Birone."  Sir  Nathaniel,  this  Birone  is  one 
of  the  votaries  with  the  King  ;  and  here  he  hath 
framed  a  letter  to  a  sequent  of  the  stranger  Queen's, 
which,  accidentally,  or  by  the  way  of  progression, 
hath  miscarried.  —  Trip  and  go,  my  sweet  :  deliver 
this  paper  into  the  royal  hand  of  the  King  ;   it  may 


392  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act   lY. 

concern  much.      Stay  not  thy  compliment ;    I  forgive 
thy  duty  :    adieu. 

Jaq.  Good  Costard,  go  with  me.  —  Sir,  God  save 
your  life  ! 

Cost.     Have  with  thee,  my  girl. 

[^Exeunt  Cost.   a7id  Jaq. 

Nath.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God, 
very  religiously ;    and,  as  a  certain  Father  saith  — 

Hoi.  Sir,  tell  not  me  of  the  Father ;  I  do  fear 
colourable  colours.  But,  to  return  to  the  verses  :  did 
they  please  you.   Sir  Nathaniel  ? 

Nath.     Marvellous  well,  for  the  pen. 

Hoi.  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain 
pupil  of  mine  ;  where  if  before  repast  it  shall  please 
you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I  will,  on  my 
privilege  I  have  with  the  parents  of  the  foresaid  child 
or  pupil,  undertake  your  hen  venuto ;  where  I  will 
prove  those  verses  to  be  very  unlearned,  neither  sa- 
vouring of  poetry,  wit,  nor  invention.  I  beseech  your 
society. 

Nath.  And  thank  you  too ;  "  for  society,"  saith 
the  text,  "is  the  happiness  of  life." 

Hoi.  And,  certes,  the  text  most  infallibly  con- 
cludes it.  —  Sir,  [^0  Dull,]  I  do  invite  you  too  : 
you  shall  not  say  me  nay  :  pauca  verha.  Away  !  the 
gentles  are  at  their  game,  and  we  will  to  our  recrea- 
tion. \_Exeunt. 

Scene    III. 
Another  Part  of  the  Same. 

Enter  Bikone,  with  a  paper. 

Bir.  The  King  he  is  hunting  the  deer ;  I  am  cours- 
ing myself:   they  have  pitch"d  a  toil  ;   I  am  toiling  in 


sc.   III.       LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  393 

a  pitch  —  pitch  that  defiles.  Defile  ?  a  foul  word. 
Well,  sit  thee  down,  sorrow !  for  so,  they  say,  the 
fool  said  ;  and  so  say  I,  and  ay  the  fool.  Well  proved, 
wit!  By  the  Lord,  this  love  is  as  mad  as  Ajax:  it 
kills  sheep  ;  it  kills  me,  ay,  a  sheep.  Well  proved  again 
o'  my  side  !  I  will  not  love ;  if  I  do,  hang  me  :  i'faith, 
I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye  !  —  by  this  light,  but  for 
her  eye,  I  would  not  love  her !  yes,  for  her  two  eyes. 
Well,  I  do  nothing  in  the  world  but  lie,  and  lie  in  my 
throat.  By  Heaven,  I  do  love,  and  it  hath  taught  me  to 
rhyme,  and  to  be  melancholy  ;  and  here  is  part  of  my 
rhyme,  and  here  my  melancholy.  Well,  she  hath  one 
o'  my  sonnets  already :  the  clown  bore  it,  the  fool  sent 
it,  and  the  lady  hath  it :  sweet  clown,  sweeter  fool, 
sweetest  lady  !  By  the  world,  I  would  not  care  a  pin 
if  the  other  three  were  in.  Here  comes  one  with  a 
paper  :    God  give  him  grace  to  groan  ! 

\^Gets  up  into  a  tree. 

Enter  the  King,  toith  a  paper. 

King.     Ay  me  ! 

Bir.  \^Aside.'\  Shot,  by  Heaven  !  —  Proceed,  sweet 
Cupid  :  thou  hast  thump' d  him  with  thy  bird-bolt  un- 
der the  left  pap.  —  In  faith,  secrets! 

King.     [Reads.]     So  sioeet  a  kiss   the  golden  sun 
gives  not 

To  those  fresh  morning  drops  upon  the  rose. 
As  thy  eye-leams,  when  their  fresh  rays  have  smote 

The  night  of  deio  that  on  my  cheeks  doivn  flows  : 
Nor  shines  the  silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 

Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep, 
As  doth  thy  face  through  tears  of  mine  give  light ; 

Thou,  shin'st  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep : 
No  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee  ; 

So  ridest  thou  triumphing  in  my   woe. 


394  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        ACT   iv. 

Do  but  behold  the  tears  that  swell  in  me. 

And  they  thy  glory  through,  my  grief  will  show  : 
But  do  not  love  thyself;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep. 
0  Queen  of  queens,  how  far  dost  thou,  excel ! 
No  thought  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. 

How  shall  she  know  my  griefs  ?     I'll  drop  the  paper. 
Sweet  leaves,  shade  folly.     Who  is  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Longaville,  with  a  paper. 

\_Aside.'^    What,  Longaville  !  and  reading  ?  listen,  ear. 

\_Steps  aside^ 
Bir.     Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool  appear ! 
Long.     Ay  me  !    I  am  forsworn. 
Bir.     Why,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjurer,  wearing 

papers. 
King.     In     love,    I    hope.       Sweet    fellowship     in 

shame  ! 
Bir.      One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name. 
Long.     Am  I  the  first  that  have  been  perjur'd  so? 
Bir.     I    could   put    thee   in    comfort  :    not   by  two 
that  I  know. 
Thou  mak'st  the  triiimviry,  the  corner-cap  of  society, 
The  shape  of  Love's  Tyburn,  that  hangs  up   simpli- 
city. 
Long.     I   fear  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power   to 
move. 
O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love  ! 
These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  write  in  prose. 
Bir.     O  !    rhymes    are   guards    on  wanton  Cupid's 
hose  : 
Disfigure  not  his  slop. 

Long.  This  same  shall  go.  — 

\_He  reads  the  sonnet. 


sc.   III.        LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  395 

Did  not.  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye, 

'Gainst  whom  the  world  cannot  hold  argument. 
Persuade  my  heart  to  this  false  perjury  I 

Vows  for  thee  broke  deserve  not  punish/nent. 
A  tvoman  I  forswore  ;   hut  I  ivill  prove. 

Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forswore  not  thee: 
My  vow  teas  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love  ; 

Th,y  grace,  being  gain'd,  cures  all  disgrace  in  vie. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

nien    thou,  fair   sun,  which   on   my  earth    do'st 
shine, 
ExhaVst  this  vapour-voiv  ;  in  thee  it  is  : 

If  broken,  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise. 
To  lose  an  oath,  to  win  a  paradise  7 

Bir.     [_Aside.^    This  is  the  liver  vein,  which  makes 

flesh  a  deity  ; 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess  :   pure,  pure  idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend  !    we  are  much  out  o'  th' 

way. 

Enter  Dumaine,  toith  a  paper. 

Long.      By  whom  shall  I  send  this  ?  —  Company  ! 
stay.  l^Steps  aside. 

Bir.     All  hid,  all  hid ;   an  old  infant  play. 
Like  a  demi-god  here  sit  I  in  the   sky. 
And  wretched  fools"  secrets  heedfully  o"er-eye. 
'  More  sacks   to  the  mill '  !     O  Heavens  !   I  have  my 

wish  : 
Dumaine  transformed  ?   four  woodcocks  in  a  dish ! 

Dum.      O  most  divine  Kate  ! 

Bir.     O  most  profane  coxcomb  ! 

Du77i.      By  Heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye ! 

Bir.     By  Earth,  she  is  not :  Corporal,  there  you  lie. 


396  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.        act  iv. 

Dum.     Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber  quoted. 
Bir.     Aq  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted. 
Dum.     As  upright  as  the  cedar. 
Bir.  Stoop,  I  say  : 

^    Her  shoulder  is  with  child. 

Dum.  As  fair  as  day. 

Bir.     Ay,  as    some  days  ;    but  then  no   sun  must 

shine. 
Dum.      O,  that  I  had  my  wish  ! 
Long.  And  I  had  mine. 

King.     And  I  mine  too,  good  Lord  ! 
Bir.     Amen,  so  I  had  mine.     Is  not  that  a  good 

word  ? 
Dum.     I  would  forget  her ;   but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood,   and  will  remember' d  be. 

Bir.     A  fever  in  your  blood  ?    why,  then   incision 
Would  let  her  out  in  saucers  :    sweet  misprision ! 
Dum.     Once    more   I'll   read   the   ode   that   I   have 

writ. 
Bir.     Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can  vary  wit. 

Dum.     On  a  day,  {alack  the  day .') 

Love,  whose  month  is  ever  May, 
Spied  a  hlossom,  passing  fair. 
Flaying  in  the  wanton  air : 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind. 
All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find  ; 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish'd  himself  the  heaven  s  breath. 
Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow ; 
Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so  ! 
But  alack  !  my  hand  is  sworn. 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn  : 
Vow,  alack  !  for  youth  unmeet. 
Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 


SC.   III.        LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  397 

Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee  : 
Thou,  for  whom  Jove  xcould  swear 
Jimo  hut  an  Et.hiop  tcere  ; 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 

This  will  I  send,  and  something  else  more  plain, 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 
O,  would  the  King,   Birone,  and  Longaville, 
Were  lovers  too  !     Ill,  to  example  ill, 
Would  from  my  forehead  wipe  a  perjur'd  note  ; 
For  none  offend,  where  all  alike  do  dote. 

Long.    \_Advancing.'j    Dumaine,  thy  love  is  far  from 

charity. 
That  in  love's  grief  desir'st  society  : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  blush,   I   know. 
To  be  o'erheard,  and  taken  napping   so. 

King.      \_Adv ancing .~^      Come,    sir,   you    blush  ;    as 

his  your  case  is  such  ; 
You  chide  at  him,  offending  twice  as  much  : 
You  do  not  love  Maria  ;   Longaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile. 
Nor  never  lay  his  wreathed  arms  athwart 
His  loving  bosom,  to  keep  down  his  heart. 
I  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  bush, 
And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  you  both   did   blush. 
I  heard  your  guilty  rhymes,  observ'd  your  fashion. 
Saw  sighs   reek  from  you,  noted  well  your  passion  : 
Ay  me  !    says  one  ;    O  Jove  !    the  other  cries  ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's  eyes  : 
You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth  ; 

\_To  Longaville. 
And  Jove  for  your  love  would  infringe  an  oath. 

\_To  Dumaine. 


398  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.        act  iv. 

What  will  Birone  say,  when  that  he  shall  hear 
Faith  infringed,   which  such  zeal  did  swear  ? 
How  will  he  scorn  !   how  will  he  spend  his  wit ! 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it  ! 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  I  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Bir.     Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy.  — 

\_Descends. 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  thee  pardon  me  : 
Good  heart  !   what  grace  hast  thou,  thus  to  reprove 
These  worms  for  loving,  that  art  most  in  love  ? 
Your  eyes  do  make  no  coaches  ;    in  your  tears 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears  : 
You'll  not  be  perjur'd,  'tis  a  hateful  thing  : 
Tush  !   none  but  minstrels  like  of  sonneting. 
But  are  you  not*  asham'd  ?  nay,  are  you  not. 
All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  much  o'ershot  ? 
You     found    his    mote ;     the    King    your    mote    did 

see  ; 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  each  of  three. 
O  !  what  a  scene  of  fool'ry  have  I  seen. 
Of  sighs,  of  groans,  of  sorrow,  and  of  teen  ! 
O  me  !    with  what  strict  patience  have  I  sat, 
To  see  a  King  transformed  to  a  gnat  ! 
To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gig, 
And  profound  Solomon  to  tune  a  jig, 
And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys, 
And  critic  Timon  lavigh  at  idle  toys  ! 
Where  lies  thy  grief?    O!    tell  me,  good  Dumaine  : 
And,  gentle  Longaville,  where  lies  thy  pain  ? 
And  where  my  liege's  ?    all  about  the  breast :  — 
A  caudle,  hoa  ! 

King.  Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 

Are  we  betray'd  thus  to  thy  over-view  ? 

Bir.     Not  you    to   mc,   but  I   betray'd  by  you  : 


sc.   III.  ■     LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  399 

I,  that  am  honest ;    I,  that  hold  it  sin 

To  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in  ; 

I  am  betray'd,  by  keeping  company 

With  men  like  men,  of  [strange]  inconstancy. 

When  shall  yon  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyme? 

Or  groan  for  Joan  ?   or  spend  a  minute's  time 

In  pruning  me  ?     When  shall  you  hear  that  I 

Will  praise  a  hand,  a  foot,  a  face,  an  eye, 

A  gait,  a  state,  a  brow,  a  breast,  a  waist, 

A  leg,  a  limb  ?  — 

King.  Soft !     Whither  away  so  fast  ? 

A  true  man,  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so  ? 

Bir.     I  post  from  Love  :    good  lover,  let  me   go. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 

Jaq.     God  bless  the  King  ! 

King.  What  present  hast  thou   there  ? 

Cost.      Some  certain  treason. 

King.  What  makes  treason  here  ? 

Cost.     Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 

King.  If  it  mar  nothing  neither, 

The  treason  and  you  go  in  peace  away  together. 

Jaq.     I    beseech    your    Grace,    let    this    letter     be 
read : 
Our  parson  misdoubts  it ;    'twas  treason,  he  said. 

King.     Birone,  read  it  over. 

[BiKONE  reads  the  letter. 
Where  hadst  thou  it  ? 

Jaq.      Of  Costard. 

King.    -Where  hadst  thou  it? 

Cost.     Of  Dun  Adramadio,   Dun  Adramadio. 

King.     How  now  !   what  is  in  you  ?  why  dost  thou 
tear  it  ? 

Bir.     A  toy,  my  liege,  a   toy  :    your  Grace  needs 
not  fear  it. 


400  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        ACT   iv. 

Long.      It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore 

let's  hear  it. 
Duni.     It  is  Birone's  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 

\_Picking  up  the  pieces. 
Bir.     Ah,   you   Avhoreson   loggerhead!     [To   Cos- 
tard.]    you  were  born  to  do  me  shame.  — 
Guilty,  my  lord,  guilty !     I  confess,   I   confess. 
King.     What  ? 

Bir.     That  you  three  fools  lack'd  me,  fool,  to  make 
up  the  mess. 
He,  he,  and  you,  and  you  my  liege,  and  I, 
Are  pick-purses  in  love,  and  we  deserve  to  die. 
O  !   dismiss  this  audience,  and  I  shall  tell  you  more. 
Dum.     Now  the  number  is  even. 
Bir.  True,  true  ;    we  are  four.  — 

Will  these  turtles  be  gone  ? 

King.  Hence,   sirs  :    away  ! 

Cost.     Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  traitors 
stay.  \_Exeu'nt  Costard  and  Jaquexetta. 

Bir.     Sweet   lords,   sweet    lovers,  O  !    let    us    em- 
brace. 
As  true  we  are,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be : 
The    sea    will    ebb    and   flow,   heaven   will    shew   his 
face  ; 
Young  blood  doth  not  obey  an  old  decree : 
We  cannot  cross  the  cause  why  we  are  born ; 
Therefore,  of  all  hands  must  we  be  forsworn. 

King.     What,  did  these  rent  lines  show  some  love 

of  thine  ? 
Bir.     Did  they  ?  quoth  you.     Who  sees  the  heav- 
enly Rosaline, 
That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  gorgeous  east, 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head,  and,  stricken  blind, 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  breast  ? 


sc.    III.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  401 

What  peremptory,  eagle-sighted  eye 

Dares  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow, 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty? 

King.     What    zeal,   what   fury    hath    inspired   thee 
now  ? 
My  love,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon, 

She,  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  a  light. 
Bir.     My  eyes  are  then  no  eyes,  nor  I  Birone. 
O  !    but  for  my  love,  day  would  turn  to  night. 
Of  all  complexions  the  cull'd  sovereignty 

Do  meet,  as  at  a  fair,  in  her  fair  cheek  ; 
Where  several  worthies  make  one  dignity. 

Where  nothing  wants  that  want  itself  doth  seek. 
Lend  me  the  flourish  of  all  gentle  tongues, — 

Fie,  painted  rhetoric !     O  !   she  needs  it  not : 
To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs  ; 

She   passes   praise ;    then  praise   too    short    doth 
blot. 
A  wither'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn, 

Might  shake  ofi"  fifty,  looking  in  her  eye  : 
Beauty  doth  varnish  age,  as  if  new-born. 

And  gives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  infancy. 
O  !   'tis  the  sun,  that  maketh  all  things  shine  ! 
King.     By  Heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
Bir.     Is  ebony  like  her  ?     O  wood  divine  ! 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
0  !  who  can  give  an  oath  ?   where  is  a  book  r 

That  I  may  swear  beauty  doth  beauty  lack. 
If  that  she  learn  not  of  her  eye  to  look  : 

No  face  is  fair  that  is  not  full  so  black. 
King.     0  paradox  !     Black  is  the  badge  of  Hell, 
The  hue  of  dungeons,  and  the  shade  of  night, 
A.nd,  beauty's  crest,  becomes  the  heavens  well. 
Bir.     Devils   soonest   tempt,  resembling  spirits  of 
light. 

VOL.    III.  Z 


402  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.       act  iv. 

O  !  if  in  black  my  lady's  brows  be  deck'd, 

It  mourns,  that  painting,   [and]  usurping  hair, 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  false  aspect  ; 

And  therefore  is  she  born  to  make  black  fair. 
Her  favour  turns  the  fashion  of  the  days ; 

For  native  blood  is  counted  painting  now. 
And  therefore  red,   that  would  avoid  dispraise, 
Paints  itself  black,  to  imitate  her  brow. 
Dum.     To    look    like    her    are    chimney-sweepers 

black. 
Long.     And    since    her    time    are    colliers    counted 

bright. 
King.     And    Ethiops    of    their    sweet    complexion 

crack. 
Dum.     Dark    needs    no    candles    now,  for    dark   is 

light. 
Bir.      Your  mistresses  dare  never  come  in   rain, 
For  fear  their  colours  should  be  wash'd  away. 
King.     'Twere    good,  yours    did ;    for,  sir,   to    tell 
you  plain, 
I'll  find  a  fairer  face  not  wash'd  to-day. 
Bir.     I'll    prove    her   fair,    or    talk    till    doomsday 

here. 
King.     No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as 

she. 
Dum.     I  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuff  so  dear. 
Long.     Look,  here's    thy  love  :    my   foot    and    her 

face  see. 
Bir.     O  !  if  the  streets  were  paved  with  thine  eyes. 
Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  tread. 
Dum.     O  vile !    then,   as    she    goes,    what    upward 
lies 
The  street  should  sec,  as  she  walk'd  over  head. 
King.     But  what  of  this  ?     Are  we  not  all  in  love  ? 
Bir.     O  !    nothing  so    sure  ;    and    thereby  all    for- 
sworn. 


sc.   III.       LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  403 

King.     Then    leave    this  chat :    and,   good    Birone, 
now  prove 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn. 

Dum.    Ay,  marry,  there  ;  some  flattery  for  this  evil. 

Long.     O  !    some  authority  how  to  proceed ; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,  how  to  cheat   the  Devil. 

Dum.     Some  salve  for  perjury. 

Bir.  O  !   'tis  more  than  need.  — 

Have  at  you,  then,  affection's  men  at  arms. 
Consider  what  you  first  did  swear  unto  ;  — 
To  fast,  to  study,  and  to  see  no  woman  : 
Flat  treason  'gainst  the  kingly  state  of  youth. 
Say,  can  you  fast  ?   your  stomachs  are  too  young ; 
And  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 
And  where  that  you  have  vow'd  to   study,  lords. 
In  that  each  of  you  hath  forsworn  his  book, 
Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,   and  thereon  look  ? 
For  when  would  you,  my  lord,  or  you,  or  you. 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence. 
Without  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  Academes, 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 
Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries. 
As  motion,  and  long-during  action,  tires 
The  sinewy  vigour  of  the  traveller. 
Now,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face, 
You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes, 
And  study,  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow ; 
For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world. 
Teaches  such  learning  as  a  woman's  eye  ? 
Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to   ourself. 
And  where  we  are,  our  learning  likewise  is  : 
Then,  when  ourselves  we  see  in   ladies'  eyes. 


404  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.       act  iv. 

With  ourselves, 

Do  we  not  likewise  see  our  learning  there  ? 

O  !    we  have  made  a  vow  to  study,  lords, 

And  in  that  vow  we  have  forsworn  our  books  ; 

For  when  would  you,  my  liege,  or  you,  or  you. 

In  leaden  contemplation  have  found  out 

Such  fiery  numbers  as  the  prompting  eyes 

Of  beauty's  tutors  have  enrich'd  you  with  ? 

Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain, 

And  therefore,  finding  barren  practisers. 

Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil ; 

But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 

Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain, 

But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power, 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power. 

Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 

A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound. 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  : 

Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible. 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails  : 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  tastf 

For  valour,  is  not  Love  a  Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides  ? 

Subtle  as  Sphinx  ?    as  sweet,  and  musical. 

As  bright  Apollo's  lute,   strung  with  his  hair  ? 

And  when  Love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 

Makes  Heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write. 

Until  his  ink  were  temper' d  with  love's  sighs  ; 

O  !    then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 


sc.   III.        LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  405 

They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  Academes, 
That  shew,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world, 
Else  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent. 
Then,  fools  you  were  these  women  to  forswear. 
Or,  keeping  what  is  sworn,  you  will  prove  fools. 
For  wisdom's  sake,  a  word  that  all  men  love. 
Or  for  love's  sake,  a  word  that  loves  all  men. 
Or  for  men's  sake,  the  authors  of  these  women, 
Or  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men, 
Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths  to  find  ourselves. 
Or  else  we  lose  ourselves  to  keep  our  oaths. 
It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn  ; 
For  charity  itself  fulfils  the  law. 
And  who  can  sever  love  from  charity  ? 

King.     Saint    Cupid,    then  !    and,    soldiers,    to    the 
field! 

Bir.     Advance    your    standards,    and    upon    them, 
lords  ! 
Pell-mell,  down  with  them !  but  be  first  advis'd. 
In  conflict  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 

Long.     Now  to  plain-dealing :   lay  these  glozes  by. 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girls  of  France  ? 

King.     And  win  them  too  :   therefore,  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  for  them  in  their   tents. 

Bir.     First,  from   the   Park   let    us    conduct    them 
thither  ; 
Then,  homeward,  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress.     In  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them, 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape  ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  merry  hours. 
Fore-run  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  flowers. 

King.     Away,  away  !   no  time  shall  be  omitted. 
That  will  be  time,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 


406  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

Bir.     Allons  !   allons  !  —  Sow'd    cockle    reap'd   no 

corn ; 
And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsworn : 
If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 

\_Exeunt. 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Same. 
Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

HOLOFERNES. 

0<  A  TTS  quod  sufficit. 

fv3  Nath.  I  praise  God  for  you,  sir  :  your  reasons 
at  dinner  have  been  sharp  and  sententious  ;  pleasant 
without  scurrility,  witty  without  affection,  audacious 
without  impudency,  learned  without  opinion,  and 
strange  without  heresy.  I  did  converse  this  quon- 
dam day  with  a  companion  of  the  King's,  who  is 
intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don  Adriano  de  Ar- 
mado. 

Hoi.  Novi  liominem  tanquam  te :  his  humour  is 
lofty,  his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his 
eye  ambitious,  his  gait  majestical,  and  his  general 
behaviour  vain,  ridiculous,  and  thrasonical.  He  is 
too  picked,  too  spruce,  too  affected,  too  odd,  as  it 
were,  too  peregrinate,  as  I  may  call  it. 

Nath.     A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

[^Draws  out  his  table-book. 

Hoi.     He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  407 

finer  than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor  such 
fanatical  phantasms,  such  insociable  and  point-devise 
companions  ;  such  rackers  of  orthography,  as  to  speak, 
dout,  fine,  when  he  should  say,  douht ;  det,  when  he 
should  pronounce,  deht  —  debt,  not  det:  he  clep- 
eth  a  '  calf,"  caiif;  '  half,"  liauf ;  '  neighbour  "  vocatur, 
nebour ;  neigh  abbreviated  ne.  This  is  ab-hominable, 
(which  he  would  call  abominable,)  it  insinuateth  me 
of  insanie  :  ne  intelJigis,  domine  7  —  to  make  frantic, 
lunatic. 

Xath.      Laus  Deo,   bone  inteUigo. 

Hoi.  Bo7ie  7  —  bone,  for  beiie  :  Priscian  a  little 
ecratch'd  ;   'twill  serve. 

Enter  Armado,  Moth,  and  Costard. 

Nath.    Videsne  quis  venit  7 

Hoi.      Video,  et  gaudeo. 

Arm.    Chirrah  !  \^To  Moth. 

Hoi.      Quare  '  chirrah,'  not  '  sirrah  '  ? 

Arm.    Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 

Hoi.     Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Moth.  They  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages, 
and  stolen  the  scraps. 

Cost.  O  !  they  have  liv'd  long  on  the  alms-basket 
of  words.  I  marvel  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  thee 
for  a  word ;  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head 
as  ho7iorificabiIitudinitatibus :  thou  art  easier  swal- 
lowed than  a  flap- dragon. 

Moth.    Peace  !    the  peal  begins. 

Ar7n.  '  Monsieur,   [<o  Hol.]   are  you  not  letter'd  ? 

Moth.  Yes,  yes ;  he  teaches  boys  the  horn-book. 
—  What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward  with  the  horn  on 
his  head  ? 

Hol.     Ba,  pueritia,  with  a  horn  added. 


408  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         ACT  T. 

Moth.  Ba  !  most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn.  —  You 
hear  his  learning. 

Hoi.      Quis.,  qiiis,  thou  consonant  ? 

Moth.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat 
them ;    or  the  fifth,  if  I. 

HoJ.      I  will  repeat  them,   a,  e,  i,  — 

Moth.   The  sheep  :  the  other  two  concludes  it ;  o,  u. 

Arm.  Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterranean, 
a  sweet  touch,  a  quick  venew  of  wit !  snip,  snap,  quick 
and  home  :    it  rejoiceth  my  intellect ;    true  wit  ! 

Moth.  Ofi'ered  by  a  child  to  an  old  man;  which 
is  wit-old. 

HoJ.     What  is  the  figure  ?    what  is  the  figure  ? 

Moth.      Horns. 

Hoi.   Thou  disputest  like  an  infant :  eo,  whip  thy  gig. 

Moth.  Lend  me  your  horn  to  make  one,  and  I 
will  whip  about  your  infamy  circwn  circa.  A  gig 
of  a  cuckold's  horn  ! 

Cost.  An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world,  thou 
shouldst  have  it  to  buy  gingerbread :  hold,  there  is 
the  very  remuneration  I  had  of  thy  master,  thou  half- 
penny purse  of  wit,  thou  pigeon-egg  of  discretion. 
O  !  an  the  heavens  were  so  pleased,  that  thou  wert 
but  my  bastard,  what  a  joyful  father  would' st  thou 
make  me.  Go  to  ;  thou  hast  it  ad  dunghill,  at  the 
fingers'   ends,  as  they  say. 

Hoi.  O  !  I  smell  false  Latin ;  '  dunghill '  for  un- 
guem. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  prceamhuJa  :  we  will  be  singled 
from  the  barbarous.  Do  you  not  educate  youth  at 
the  charge-house  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ? 

Hoi.      Or  mons,   the  hill. 

Arm.    At  your  sweet  pleasure  for  the  mountain. 

Hoi.     I  do,  sans  question. 

Arm.    Sir,  it   is   the    King's    most    sweet    pleasure 


sc.   I.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  409 

and  affection,  to  congratulate  the  Princess  at  her  pa- 
vilion in  the  posteriors  of  this  day,  which  the  rude 
multitude  call  the  afternoon. 

Hoi.  The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous  sir, 
is  liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  the  afternoon : 
the  word  is  well  cull'd,  chose  ;  sweet  and  apt,  I  do 
assure  you,  sir ;    I  do  assure. 

Arm.  Sir,  the  King  is  a  noble  gentleman,  and  my 
familiar,  I  do  assure  you,  very  good  friend.  —  For 
what  is  inward  between  us,  let  it  pass.  —  \_To  Cost.] 
I  do  beseech  thee,  remember  thy  courtesy  ;    \_to  Hol.] 

—  I  beseech  thee,  apparel  thy  head  :  —  and  among 
other  importunate  and  most  serious  designs,  —  and 
of  great  import  indeed,  too,  —  but  let  that  pass  ;  — 
for  I  must  tell  thee,  it  will  please  his  Grace  (by  the 
world)  sometime  to  lean  upon  my  poor  shoulder,  and 
with  his  royal  finger,  thus  dally  with  my  excrement, 
with  my  mustachio  :  but,  sweet  heart,  let  that  pass. 
By  the  world,  I  recount  no  fable  :  some  certain  special 
honours  it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart  to  Arma- 
do,  a  soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  hath  seen  the 
world  ;    but  let  that  pass.  —  The  very  all  of  all  is, 

—  but  sweet  heart,  I  do  implore  secrecy,  —  that  the 
King  would  have  me  present  the  Princess,  sweet 
chuck,  with  some  delightful  ostentation,  or  show,  or 
pageant,  or  antic,  or  fire-work.  Now,  understand- 
ing that  the  curate  and  your  sweet  self  are  good  at 
such  eruptions,  and  sudden  breaking  out  of  mirth, 
as  it  were,  I  have  acquainted  you  withal,  to  the  end 
to  crave  your  assistance. 

Hol.  Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  the  Nine 
Worthies.  —  Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some  en- 
tertainment of  time,  some  show  in  the  posterior  of 
this  day,  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistance,  —  the 
King's    command,  and    this    most    gallant,   illustrate, 

z2 


410  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  t. 

and  learned  gentleman,  —  before  the  Princess,  I  say, 
none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  Nine  Worthies. 

Nath.  Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough 
to  present  them  ? 

Hoi.  Joshua,  yourself;  myself,  or  this  gallant  gen- 
tleman, Judas  Maccabeus  ;  this  swain,  (because  of  his 
great  limb  or  joint,)  shall  pass  Pompey  the  Great ; 
the  page,  Hercules. 

Arm.  Pardon,  sir ;  error  :  he  is  not  quantity  enough 
for  that  worthy's  thumb  :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the  end 
of  his  club. 

Hoi.  Shall  I  have  audience  ?  he  shall  present  Her- 
cules in  minority  :  his  enter  and  exit  shall  be  stran- 
gling a  snake  ;  and  I  will  have  an  apology  for  that 
purpose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  device  !  so,  if  any  of  the  au- 
dience hiss,  you  may  cry,  '  Well  done,  Hercules  !  now 
thou  crushest  the  snake  !  '  that  is  the  way  to  make 
an  oS"ence  gracious ;  though  few  have  the  grace  to 
do  it. 

Arm.     For  the  rest  of  the  Worthies  ?  — 

Hoi.     I  will  play  three  myself. 

Moth.     Thrice-worthy  gentleman  ! 

Arm.      Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing  ? 

Hoi.     We   attend. 

Ar?n.  We  will  have,  if  this  fadge  not,  an  antic. 
I  beseech  you,  follow. 

Hoi.  Via !  —  Goodman  Dull,  thou  hast  spoken 
no  word  all  this  while. 

Dull.    Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 

Hoi.      Allons  !  we  will  employ  thee. 

Dull,  ril  make  one  in  a  dance,  or  so  ;  or  I  will 
play  on  the  tabor  to  the  Worthies,  and  let  them  dance 
the  hay. 

Hoi.     Most  dull,  honest  Dull.    To  our  sport,  away ! 

\^Exeunt. 


sc.    II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  411 


Scene  II. 

Another  Part  of  the  Same.      Before  the  Princess's 

Pavilion. 

Enter   the    Princess,    Katharine,    Rosaline,  and 

Maria. 

Prin.     Sweet  hearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  de- 
part. 
If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in : 
A  lady  wall'd  about  with  diamonds  !  — 
Look  you,  what  I  have  from  the  loving  King. 

Ros.     Madam,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that  ? 
Prin.     Nothing   but   this  ?    yes ;    as   much   love  in 
rhyme. 
As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper. 
Writ  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  margent  and  all, 
That  he  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid's  name. 

Ros.      That   was    the    way   to    make    his    god-head 
wax  ; 
For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 
Kath.     Ay,  and  a  shrewd  unhappy  gallows  too. 
Ros.     You'll  ne'er  be  friends  with  him  :   he  kill'd 

your  sister. 
Kath.     He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and  heavy ; 
And  so  she  died  :    had  she  been  light,  like  you. 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit. 
She  might  ha'  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died  ; 
And  so  may  you ;   for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Ros.     What's   your   dark  meaning,  mouse,  of  this 

light  word  ? 
Kath.     A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark. 
Ros.     We   need  more  light  to  find   your  meaning 
out. 


412  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        ACT  V. 

Kath.     You'll  mar  the  light  by  taking  it  in  snufF; 
Therefore,  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Ros.     Look,   what    you   do,   you   do   it   still   i'   th' 
dark. 

Kath.     So  do  not  you,  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

Ros.     Indeed,  I  weigh  not  you,  and  therefore  light. 

Kath.     You  weigh  me  not  ?  —  O  !  that's  you  care 
not  for  me. 

Ros.     Great   reason  ;    for,  '  past    cure   is    still   past 
care.' 

Prin.    Well  bandied  both  ;  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But,  Rosaline,  you  have  a  favour  too  : 
Who  sent  it  ?    and  what  is  it  ? 

Ros.  I  would  you  knew  : 

An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  yours. 
My  favour  were  as  great :   be  witness  this. 
Nay,  I  have  verses  too,  I  thank  Birone. 
The  numbers  true  ;    and,  were  the  numb'ring  too, 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  ground  : 
I  am  compar'd  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O  !    he  hath  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter. 

Prin.     Any  thing  like  ? 

Ros.     Much,  in  the  letters,  nothing  in  the  praise. 

Prin.     Beauteous  as  ink  :    a  good  conclusion. 

Kath.     Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy-book. 

Ros.     'Ware    pencils,    ho  !    let    me    not    die    your 
debtor. 
My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter  : 
O,  that  your  face  were  not  so  full  of  O's  ! 

Prin.     A    pox  of   that   jest  !    and    I    beshrew    all 
shrews  ! 
But,  Katharine,  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair  Du- 
maine  ? 

Kath.     Madam,  this  glove. 

Prin.  Did  he  not  send  you  twain  ? 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  413 

Kath.     Yes,  madam ;    and,  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faithful  lover  : 
A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy, 
Vilely  compil'd,  profound  simplicity. 

Mar.     This   and   these   pearls   to   me    sent   Longa- 
ville : 
The  letter  is  too  long  by  half  a  mile. 

Prin.     I   think  no   less.      Dost   thou   not   wish   in 
heart, 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short? 

Mar.     Ay,  or   I   would    these    hands   might  never 
part. 

Prin.     We  are  wise  girls  to  mock   our  lovers  so. 

Hos.     They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
That  same  Birone  I'll  torture  ere  I  go. 
O  !  that  I  knew  he  were  but  in  by  th'  week  ! 
How  I  would  make  him  fawn,  and  beg,  and  seek, 
And  wait  the  season,  and  observe  the  times. 
And  spend  his  prodigal  wits  in  bootless  rhymes, 
And  shape  his  service  wholly  to  my  behests. 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests  ! 
So  persaunt-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state, 
That  he  should  be  my  fool,  and  I  his  fate. 

Prin.     None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are 
catch' d. 
As  wit  turn'd  fool  :    folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd. 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school. 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.     ^\i.e   blood  of  youth   burns    not  with    such 
excess. 
As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

Mar.     Folly  in  fools  bears  not  so  strong  a  note. 
As  fool'ry  in  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote  ; 
Since  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply. 
To  prove  by  wit  worth  in  simplicity. 


414  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        act  v. 

Enter  Boyet. 

Prin.     Here  comes  Boyet,  and  mirth,  is  in  his  face. 

Boyet.    0  !  I  am  stabb'd  with  laughter  ?    Where's 
her  Grace  ? 

Prin.     Thy  news,  Boyet  ? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare  ! 

Arm,  wenches,  arm !    encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace.     Love  doth   approach   disguis"d. 
Armed  in  arguments  :    you'll  be  surpris'd. 
Muster  your  wits  ;   stand  in  your  own  defence  ; 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 

Prin.     St.  Dennis  to  St.  Cupid  !     What  are  they, 
That  charge  their  breath  against  us  ?  say,  scout,  say. 

Boyet.     Under  the  cool  shade  of   a  sycamore. 
I  thought  to  close  mine  eyes  some  half   an  hour. 
When,  lo  !    to  interrupt  my  purpos'd  rest, 
Toward  that  shade  I  might  behold  addrest 
The  King  and  his  companions  :    warily 
I  stole  into  a  neighbour  thicket  by. 
And  overheard  what  you  shall  overhear ; 
That  by  and  by  disguis'd  they  will  be  here. 
Their  herald   is  a  pretty  knavish  page. 
That  well  by  heart  hath  conn'd  his  embassage : 
Action,  and  accent,  did  they  teach  him  there ; 
"  Thus  must  thou  speak,  and  thus  thy  body  bear :  " 
And  ever  and  anon  they  made  a  doubt 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out ; 
"  For,"   quoth  the  King,   "  an  angel  shalt  thou  see  ; 
Yet  fear  not  thou,  but  speak  audaciously." 
The  boy  replied,   "  An  angel  is  not  evil ; 
I  should  have  fear'd  her,  had  she  been  a  devil." 
With  that  all  laugh'd,  and  clapp'd  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. 
Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  bolder. 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  415 

One  rubb'd  his  elbow  thus,  and  fleer'd  and  swore 

A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before  : 

Another,  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 

Cry'd  "  Fia  /    we  will  do't,  come  what  will  come:" 

The  third  he  caper'd  and  cried,   "  All  goes  well  :  " 

The  fourth  turn'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  he  fell. 

With  that,  they  all  did  tumble  on  the  ground. 

With  such  a  zealous  laughter,  so  profound, 

That  in  this  spleen  ridiculous  appears. 

To  check  their  folly,  passion's  solemn  tears. 

Prin.     But   what,    but   what  ?    come    they   to   visit 
us  ? 

Boyef.    They  do,  they  do  ;  and  are  apparel'd  thus, — 
Like  Muscovites,  or  Russians  :    as  I  guess. 
Their  purpose  is,  to  parle,   to  court,  and  dance  ; 
And  every  one  his  love-suit  will  advance 
Unto  his  several  mistress  ;    which  they'll  know 
By  favours  several  which  they  did  bestow. 

Prin.     And   will   they  so  ?    the    gallants    shall    be 
task'd  ; 
For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd. 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace, 
Despite  of  suit,  to  see  a  lady's  face.  — 
Hold,  Rosaline  ;    this  favour  thou  shalt  wear. 
And  then  the  King  will  court  thee  for  his  dear  : 
Hold,   take  thou  this,  my  sweet,  and  give  me  thine. 
So  shall  Birone  take  me  for  Rosaline.  — 
And  change  your  favours,  too ;    so  shall  your  loves 
Woo  contrary,  deceiv'd  by  these  removes. 

Rns.     Come   on   then  :    wear   the    favours  most   in 
sight. 

Kalh.     But  in  this  changing,  what  is  your  intent  ? 

Prin.     The  effect  of  my  intent  is,  to  cross  theirs  : 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merriment ; 
And  mock  for  mock  is  only  my  intent. 


416  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        act  v. 

Their  several  counsels  they  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook  ;    and  so  be  mock'd  withal, 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet, 
With  visages  display'd,  to  talk,  and  greet. 

Ros.     But  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  us  to't  ? 

Prin.     No  ;  to  the  death  we  will  not  move  a  foot : 
Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace  ; 
But,  while  'tis  spoke,  each  turn  away  her  face. 

Boyet.     Why,  that  contempt  will  kill  the  speaker's 
heart. 
And  quite  divorce  his  memory  from  his  part. 

Prin.     Therefore  I  do  it ;  and,  I  make  no  doubt, 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  o'erthrown ; 
To  make  theirs  ours,  and  ours  none  but  our  own : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocking  intended  game  ; 
And  they,  well  mock'd,  depart  away  with  shame. 

[^Trumpets  sound  ivithin. 

Boyet.     The  trumpet  sounds  :   be  mask'd,  the  mask- 
ers come.  \_The  Ladies  mask. 

Enter  the  King,  Bikone,  Longaville,  and  Du- 
MAiNE,  i'/i  Russian  habits,  and  masked ;  Moth, 
Musicians,  and  Attendants. 

Moth.      "  All    hail,    the    richest    beauties    on    the 

earth  !  — 
Boyet.    Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  tafFata. 
Moth.     "  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames, 

\_The  Ladies  turn  their  hacks  to  him. 
"That  ever  turn'd  their  backs  to  mortal  views!  — 
Bir.     "  Their  eyes,"  villain,  "  their  eyes." 
Moth.     "  That    ever    turn'd    their    eyes    to    mortal 
views  ! 
'  Out  — 
Boyet.     True  ;    "  out,"  indeed. 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  417 

Moth.     "  Out    of    your    favours,    heavenly    spirits, 
vouchsafe 
"Not  to  behold  — 

Bir.     "  Once  to  behold,"  rogue. 
Moth.     "  Once    to    behold    with    your    sun-beamed 
eyes, 

" with  your  sun-beamed  eyes  —  " 

Boyet.     They  will  not  answer  to  that  epithet ; 
You  were  best  call  it  daughter-beamed  eyes. 

Moth.     They    do    not    mark    me,    and    that   brings 

me  out. 
Bir.     Is  this  your  perfectness  ?  be  gone,  you  rogue. 
Ros.    What    would    these    strangers  ?    know    their 
minds,  Boyet. 
If  they  do  speak  our  language,  'tis  our  will 
That  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes. 
Know  what  they  would. 

Boyet.     What  would  you  with  the  Princess  ? 
Bir.     Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 
Ros.     What  would  they,  say  they  ? 
Boyet.     Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 
Ros.     Why,  that  they  have ;    and  bid  them  so  be 

gone. 
Boyet.     She   says,   you  have  it,   and  you  may  be 

gone. 
King.     Say  to  her,  we  have  measur'd  many  miles. 
To  tread  a  measure  with  her  on  this  grass. 

Boyet.     They  say,  that  they  have  measur'd  many 
a.  mile. 
To  tread  a  measure  with  you  on  this  grass. 

Ros.     It  is  not  so  :    ask  them  how  many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile  ?    if  they  have  measur'd  many. 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 

Boyet.     If,    to    come    hither    you    have    measur'd 
miles, 

VOL.    III.  A  A 


418  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.        act  v. 

And  many  miles,  the  Princess  bids  you  tell, 
How  many  inches  do  fill  up  one  mile. 

Bir.     Tell  her  we  measure   them  by  weary  steps. 

Boyet.     She  hears  herself. 

Ros.  How  many  weary  steps, 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'ergone, 
Are  number' d  in  the  travel  of  one  mile  ? 

Bir.     We    number    nothing    that    we    spend    for 
you  : 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite. 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
Vouchsafe  to  shew  the  sunshine  of  your  face. 
That  we,  like  savages,  may  worship  it. 

Kos.     My  face  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

King.     Blessed   are   clouds,   to   do   as  such  clouds 
do! 
Vouchsafe,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  to  shine 
(Those  clouds  removed)  upon  our  watery  eyne. 

Ros.     O,  vain  petitioner !   beg  a  greater  matter  ; 
Thou  now  request' st  but  moonshine  in  the  water. 

King.     Then,  in    our   measure,  vouchsafe  but  one 
change. 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  ;    this  begging  is  not  strange. 

Ros.     Play,  music,  then  !  nay,  you  must  do  it  soon. 

[Mws/c  plays. 
Not   yet  ;  —  no    dance  :  —  thus    change    I    like    the 
moon. 

King.     Will  you  not  dance  ?     How  came  you  thus 

estranged  ? 
Ros.     You    took   the  moon  at  full,  but  now  she's 

changed. 
King.     Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  music  plays  :    vouchsafe  some  motion  to  it. 
Ros.     Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 
King.  But  your  legs  should  do  it. 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  419 

Ros.     Since  you  are  strangers,  and  come  here  by 
chance, 
We'll  not  be  nice.     Take  hands  :  —  we  will  not  dance. 
King.     Why  take  you  hands  then? 
Ros.  Only  to  part  friends.  — 

Court'sy,  sweet  hearts  ;   and  so  the  measure  ends. 
King.     More  measure  of  this  measure  :   be  not  nice. 
-Ros.     We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 
King.     Prize    you   yourselves  ?     What    buys    your 

company  ? 
Ros.     Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  be. 

Ros.     Then  cannot  we  be  bought ;    and   so   adieu. 
Twice  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  you  ! 

King.      If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chat. 
Ros.     In  private  then. 

King.  I  am  best  pleas' d  with  that. 

\_They  converse  apart. 
Bir.     White-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  word  with 

thee. 
Prin.     Honey,    and    milk,    and   sugar :    there    are 

three. 
Bir.     Nay,  then,  two    treys,   (an   if  you    grow  so 
nice,) 
Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsey.  —  Well  run,  dice  ! 
There's  half  a  dozen  sweets. 

Prin.  Seventh  sweet,  adieu. 

Since  you  can  cog,  I'll  play  no  more  with  you. 
Bir.     One  word  in  secret. 

Prill.  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Bir.     Thou  griev'st  my  gall. 
Prin.  Gall  ?   bitter. 

Bir.  Therefore  meet. 

\_They  converse  apart. 
Diim.     Will    you  vouchsafe  with  me   to   change    a 
word .'' 


420  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.         act  v. 

Mar.     Name  it. 
Dum.  Fair  lady,  — 

Mar.  Say  you  so  ?     Fair  lord.  — 

Take  that  for  your  fair  lady. 

Dum.  Please  it  you, 

As  mucli  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adieu. 

[_They  converse  apart. 
Katli.     What,    was    your    visor    made    without    a 

tongue  ? 
Long.     I  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 
Kath.     0,  for  your  reason !    quickly,  sir ;   I  long. 
hong.     You  have  a  double  tongue  within  your  mask. 
And  would  afford  my  speechless  visor  half. 

Kath.     Veal,  quoth    the  Dutchman.  —  Is   not  veal 

a  calf? 
Long.     A  calf,  fair  lady  ? 

Kath.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Long.     Let's  part  the  word. 

Kath.  No  ;    I'll  not  be  your  half : 

Take  all,  and  wean  it :    it  may  prove  an  ox. 

Long.     Look,  how  you  butt  yourself  in  these  sharp 
mocks. 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady  ?   do  not  so. 

Kath.     Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 
Long.     One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  I  die. 
Kath.     Bleat   softly  then :    the   butcher  hears    you 
cry.  \_They  converse  apart. 

Boyet.     The  tongues   of  mocking  wenches    are    as 
keen 
As  is  the  razor's  edge  invisible. 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen  ; 
Above  the  sense  of  sense,  so  sensible 
Seemeth  their   conference ;   their  conceits   have  wings 
Fleeter    than    arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter 
things. 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.  421 

Ros.     Not  one  word  more,  my  maids  :    break  off, 

break  oif. 
Bir.     By  Heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff! 
King.     Farewell,  mad  wencbes  :    you  bave  simple 
wits.  \_Exeunt  King,  Lords,  Moth,  Music, 

and  Attendants. 
Prin.     Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen   Muscovits.  — 
Are  tbese  the  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at  .^ 

Boyet.     Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breaths 

puff'd  out. 
Ros.     Well-liking    wits    they  have ;    gross,  gross  ; 

fat,  fat. 
Prin.     O,  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout ! 
Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to-night. 

Or  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Birone  was  out  of  count'nance  quite. 

Ros.     They  were  all  in  lamentable  cases  ! 
The  King  was  weeping-ripe  for  a  good  word. 
Prin.     Birone  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 
Mar.     Dumaine  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword : 
No  point,   quoth  I:    my  servant  straight  was  mute. 

Kath.     Lord  Longaville  said,  I  came  o'er  his  heart ; 
And  trow  you,  what  he  call'd  me? 

Prin.  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Kath.     Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Prin.  Go,  sickness  as  thou  art ! 

Ros.     Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain    statute- 
caps. 
But  will  you  hear  ?   the  King  is  my  love  sworn. 
Prin.     And    quick    Birone   hath    plighted  faith   to 

me. 
Kath.     And  Longaville  was  for  my  service  born. 
Mar.     Dumaine  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 
Boyet.     Madam,  and  pretty  Mistresses,  give  ear. 
Immediately  they  will  again  be  here 


422  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.         act  V. 

In  their  own  shapes  ;   for  it  can  never  be 
They  will  digest  this  harsh  indignity. 

Prin.     Will  they  return  ? 

Boyet.  They  will,  they  will,  God  knows ; 

And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  are  lame  with  blows: 
Therefore,  change  favours ;  and,  when  they  repair. 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 

Prin.     How  blow  ?   how  blow  ?   speak  to  be  under- 
stood. 

Boyet.     Fair  ladies,  mask'd,  are  roses  in  their  bud : 
Dismask'd,  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shewn. 
Are  angels  vailing  clouds,  or  roses  blown. 

Prin.     Avaunt,  perplexity  !     What  shall  we  do, 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo  ? 

Ros.     Good  Madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd, 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well,  known,  as  disguis'd. 
Let  us  complain  to  them  what  fools  were  here, 
Disguis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear  ; 
And  wonder  what  they  were,  and  to  what  end 
Their  shallow  shews,  and  prologue  vilely  penn'd, 
And  their  rough  carriage  so  ridiculous, 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  us. 

Boyet.     Ladies,  withdraw  :  the  gallants  are  at  hand. 

Prin.     Whip  to  our  tents,  as  roes  run  over  land. 
\_Exeunt  Princess,  Ros.,  Kath.,  and  Maria. 

Enter  the  Kixg,  Birone,  Longaville,  and  Du- 
MAiNE,  in  their  proper  habits. 

King.     Fair  sir,  God  save  you  !     Where's  the  Prin- 
cess ? 

Boyet.     Gone  to  her  tent :    please  it  your  Majesty, 
command  me  any  service  to  her  ? 

King.     That    she    vouchsafe    me    audience   for  one 

word. 
Boyet.     I  will ;   and  so  will  she,  I  know,  my  lord. 

\_Exit. 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  423 

Bir.     This  fellow  picks  up  wit  as  pigeons  peas, 
And  utters  it  again  when  Jove  doth  please. 
He  is  wit's  pedler,  and  retails  his  wares 
At  wakes,  and  wassails,  meetings,  markets,  fairs  ; 
And  we  that  sell  by  gross,  the  Lord  doth  know. 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it  with  such  shew. 
This  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve : 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Eve. 
He  can  carve,  too,  and  lisp  :    why,  this  is  he 
That  kiss'd  away  his  hand  in  courtesy  : 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  Monsieur  the  nice. 
That,  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 
In  honourable  terms :    nay,  he  can  sing 
A  mean  most  meanly ;    and,  in  ushering, 
Mend  him  who  can  :    the  ladies  call  him  sweet ; 
The  stairs,  as  he  treads  on  them,  kiss  his  feet. 
This  is  the  flower  that  smiles  on  every  one, 
To  shew  his  teeth  as  white  as  whales-bone  ; 
And  consciences,  that  will  not  die  in  debt, 
Pay  him  the  due  of  '  honey-tongued  Boyet.' 

King.     A  blister    on    his    sweet    tongue,   with    my 
heart, 
That  put  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part ! 

Enter  the  Pkincess,  ushered  by  Boyet  ;   Rosaline, 
Maria,  Katharine,  and  Attendants. 

Bir.     See  where  it  comes  !  —  Behaviour,  what  wert 

thou. 
Till  this  man  shew'd  thee  ?  and  what  art  thou  now  ? 
King.      All  hail,   sweet  Madam,    and   fair   time   of 

day! 
Prin.     Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  I  conceive. 
King.     Construe  my  speeches  better,  if  you  may. 
Prin.     Then    wish    me    better  :    I    will    give    you 

leave. 


424  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

King.    We  came  to  visit  you,  and  purpose  now 
To  lead  you  to  our  Court :    vouchsafe  it,  then. 
Prin.     This  field  shall  hold  me,  and  so  hold  your 
vov\' : 
Nor  God,  nor  I,  delight  in  perjur'd  men. 
King.     Rebuke   me    not   for  that  which   you    pro- 
voke ; 
The  virtue  of  your  eye  must  break  my  oath. 
Prin.    You  nick-name  virtue  ;  vice  you  should  have 
spoke ; 
For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  troth. 
Now,  by  my  maiden  honour,  yet  as  pure 

As  the  unsullied  lily,   I  protest, 
A  world  of  torments  though  I  should  endure, 

I  would  not  yield  to  be  your  house's  guest; 
So  much  I  hate  a  breaking  cause  to  be 
Of  heavenly  oaths,  vow'd  with  integrity. 

King.     O  !  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 

Unseen,  unvisited  ;   much  to  our  shame. 
Prin.     Not  so,  my  lord  ;    it  is  not  so,  I  swear  : 
We  have  had  pastimes  here,  and  pleasant  game. 
A  mess  of  Russians  left  us  but  of  late. 
King.     How,  Madam  !    Russians  ? 
Prin.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord  ; 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship,  and  of  state. 

Ros.     Madam,  speak  true.  —  It  is  not  so,  my  lord  : 
My  lady  (to  the  manner  of  the  days) 
In  courtesy  gives  undeserving  praise. 
We  four,  indeed,  confronted  were  with  four 
In  Russian  habit :    here  they  stay'd  an  hour, 
And  talk'd  apace  ;    and  in  that  hour,  my  lord, 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  word. 
I  dare  not  call  them  fools  ;    but  this  I  think. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  fain  have  drink. 
Bir.     This  jest  is  dry  to  me.  —  [^ly]  gentle  sweet, 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  425 

Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish :   when  we  greet, 
With  eyes  best  seeing,  Heaven's   fiery  eye. 
By  light  we  lose  light  :    your  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature,  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish,  and  rich  things  but  poor. 
Ros.     This   proves   you   wise   and   rich,  for  in   my 

eye,  — 
Bir.     I  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 
Ros.     But  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belong. 
It  were  a  fault  to  snatch  words  from  my  tongue. 
Bir.     0  !    I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess. 
Ros.     All  the  fool  mine  ? 

Bir.  I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ros.     Which  of  the  visors  was  it,  that  you  wore  ? 
Bir.     Where  ?    when  ?    what    visor  ?    why  demand 

you  this  ? 
Ros.     There,  then,  that  visor  ;   that  superfluous  case. 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  shew'd  the  better  face. 
King.      \_Aside.^     We   are  descried :    they'll  mock 

us  now  downright. 
Dum.   \_Aside.^   Let  us  confess,  and  turn  it  to  a  jest. 
Prin.     Amaiz'd,  my  lord  ?     Why  looks  your  High- 
ness sad  ? 
Ros.     Help  !   hold  his  brows  !   he'll  swoon.     Why 
look  you  pale  ?  — 
Sea-sick,  I  think,  coming  from  Muscovy. 

Bir.     Thus  pour  the  stars  down   plagues  for  per- 
jury- 
Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out  ?  — 

Here  stand  I,  lady  ;    dart  thy  skill  at  me  ; 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance ; 

Cut  me  to  pieces  with  thy  keen  conceit ; 

And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance, 

Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 
aa2 


426  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  r. 

0  !    never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  penn'd, 

Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  school-boy's  tongue ; 
Nor  never  come  in  visor  to  my  friend  ; 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song  ; 
Taffata  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 

Three-pil'd  hyperboles,  spruce  affection, 
Figures  pedantical  :    these  summer  flies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation. 

1  do  forswear  them  ;    and  I  here  protest. 

By  this  white  glove,  (how  white  the  hand,  God 
knows,) 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  '  yeas,'  and  honest  kersey  '  noes  '  : 
And,  to  begin,  —  wench,  so  God  help  me,  la  ! 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 

Ros.     Sans  '  sa/is,'  I  pray  you. 

Bit.  .  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage :  —  bear  with  me,  I  am  sick  ; 
I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.     Soft !    let  us  see  :  — 
Write  "Lord  have  mercy  on  us"  on  those  three; 
They  are  infected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your  eyes  : 
These  lords  are  visited ;    you  are  not  free. 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

Prin.     No,  they   are   free   that  gave   these   tokens 
to  us. 

Bir.     Our  states  are  forfeit :   seek  not  to  undo  us. 

Ros.     It  is  not  so  ;  for  how  can  this  be  true. 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 

Bir.     Peace  !  for  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Ros.     Nor  shall  not,  if  I  do  as  I  intend. 

Bir.     Speak  for  yourselves  :   my  wit  is  at  an  end. 

King.     Teach  us,  sweet  Madam,  for  our  rude  trans- 
gression 
Some  fair  excuse. 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  427 

Prin.  The  fairest  is  confession. 

Were  you  not  here,   but  even  now,  disguisd  ? 

King.     Madam,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  well  advis'd  ? 

King.     I  was,  fair  Madam. 

Prin.  When  you  then  were  here, 

What  did  you  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear  r 

King.     That  more  than  all  the  world  I  did  respect 
her. 

Prin.     When    she    shall    challenge    this,   you   will 
reject  her. 

King.     Upon  mine  honour,  no. 

Prin.  Peace  !  peace  !  forbear  : 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  not  to  forswear. 

King.     Despise    me,    when    I    break    this    oath    of 
mine. 

Prin.     I  will ;    and  therefore  keep  it.  —  Rosaline, 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  ear  ? 

Ros.     Madam,  he  swore,  that  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  eye-sight,  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world  ;    adding  thereto,  moreover. 
That  he  would  wed  me,  or  else  die  my  lover. 

Prin.     God  give  thee  joy  of  him  !    the  noble  lord 
Most  honorably  doth  uphold  his  word. 

King.     What  mean  you.  Madam  ?  by  my  life,  my 
troth, 
I  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 

Ros.     By  Heaven,  you  did  ;   and  to  confirm  it  plain. 
You  gave  me  this  :    but  take  it,  sir,  again. 

King.     My  faith,  and  this,  the  Princess  I  did  give : 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Prin.     Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear  ; 
And  Lord  Birone,  I  thank  him,  is  my  dear.  — 
What !  will  you  have  me,  or  your  pearl  again  ? 

Bir.     Neither  of  either ;    I  remit  both  twain.  — 


428  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

I  see  the  trick  on't :  —  here  was  a  consent, 
Knowing  aforehand  of  our  merriment, 
To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy. 
Some  carry-tale,  some  please-man,  some  slight  zany. 
Some  mumble-news,  some  trencher-knight,  some  Dick, 
That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years,  and  knows  the  trick 
To  make  my  lady  laugh  when  she's  dispos'd, 
Told  our  intents  before  ;    which  once  disclos'd. 
The  ladies  did  change  favours  ;   and  then  we, 
Following  the  signs,  woo'd  but  the  sign  of  she. 
Now,  to  our  perjury  to  add  more  terror. 
We  are  again  forsworn  —  in  will,  and  error. 
Much  upon  this  it  is  :  —  and  might  not  you 

\_To    BOYET. 
Forestall  our  sport,   to  make  us  thus  untrue  ? 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  th'   squire, 

And  laugh  upon  the  apple  of  her  eye  ? 
And  stand  between  her  back,  sir,  and  the  fire. 

Holding  a  trencher,  jesting  merrily  ? 
You  put  our  page  out :    go,  you  are  allow'd  ; 
Die  when  you  will,  a  smock  shall  be  your  shroud. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  you  ?  there's  an  eye. 
Wounds  like  a  leaden  sword. 

Bo  yet.  Full  merrily 

Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 

Bi7\     Lo,  he  is  tilting  straight !     Peace  !     I  have 
done. 

Enter  Costaed. 

Welcome,  pure  wit !    thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.     O  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know. 
Whether  the  three  Worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 

Bir.     What,  are  there  but  three  ? 

Cost.  No,   sir  ;   but  it  is  vara  fine. 

For  every  one  pxirsents  three. 

Bir.  And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  429 

Cost.     Not  so,  sir  ;    under   correction,  sir,  I   hope, 
it  is  not  so. 
You   cannot  beg  us,  sir,   I    can   assure   you,  sir ;    we 

know  what  we  know  : 
I  hope,  sir,  three  times  thrice,  sir,  — 

Bir.  Is  not  nine. 

Cost.  Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereuntil 
it  doth  amount. 

Bir.      By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for  nine. 

Cost.  O  Lord  !  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  get 
your  living  by  reckoning,   sir. 

Bir.     How  much  is  it  ? 

Cost.  O  Lord  !  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the  act- 
ors, sir,  will  show  whereuntil  it  doth  amount :  for 
mine  own  part,  I  am,  as  they  say,  but  to  pursent  one 
man,  —  e'en  one  poor  man  —  Pompion  the  Great,  sir. 

Bir.     Art  thou  one  of  the  Worthies  ? 

Cost.  It  pleased  them  to  think  me  worthy  of 
Pompion  the  Great :  for  mine  own  part,  I  know  not 
the  degree  of  the  Worthy,  but  I  am  to  stand  for 
him. 

Bir.     Go,  bid  them  prepare. 

Cost.    We  will  turn  it  finely  off,  sir  :   we  will  take 
some  care.  l_Exit  Costard. 

King.      Birone,  they  will  shame  us  ;  let  them  not 
approach. 

Bir.     We  are  shame-proof,  my  lord  ;   and  "tis  some 
policy 
To   have   one   shew   worse    than   the  King's   and  his 
company. 

King.     I  say,  they  shall  not  come. 

Prin.     Nay,   my   good   lord,  let  me   o'er-rule  you 
now. 
That  sport  best  pleases,  that  doth  least  know  how : 
Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 


430  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

Dies  in  the  zeal  of  that  which  it  presents, 
Their  form  confounded  makes  most  form  in  mirth  ; 
When  great  things  labouring  perish  in  their  birth. 
Bir.     A  right  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 

Enter  Arm  ado. 

Arm.     Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expense  of  thy 
royal  sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 
[Arm ADO  converses  toith  the  King,  and 
delivers  a  paper  to  him. 

Prin.     Doth  this  man  serve  God  ? 

Bir.     Why  ask  you  r 

Prin.     He  speaks  not  like  a  man  of  God's  making. 

Arm.  That's  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey  mon- 
arch ;  for,  I  protest,  the  School-master  is  exceeding 
fantastical ;  too,  too  vain  ;  too,  too  vain  :  but  we  will 
put  it,  as  they  say,  to  fortuna  della  guerra.  I  wish 
you  the  peace  of  mind,  most  royal  couplement ! 

\_Exit  Armado. 

King.  Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of 
Worthies.  He  presents  Hector  of  Troy ;  the  swain, 
Pompey  the  Great ;  the  Parish  Curate,  Alexander ; 
Armado's  page,  Hercules  ;  the  Pedant,  Judas  Mac- 
cabeus. 

And  if  these  four  Worthies  in  their  first  shew  thrive, 
These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the  other 
five. 

Bir.     There  is  five  in  the  first  shew. 

King.     You  are  deceived  ;    'tis  not  so. 

Bir.  The  Pedant,  the  Braggart,  the  Hedge-priest, 
the  fool,  and  the  boy  :  — 

Abate  throw  at  Novem,  and  the  whole  world  again. 
Cannot  pick  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  's  vein. 

King.     The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes 
amain. 


SC.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  431 

Enter  Costard  armed,  for  Pompey. 

Cost.     "  I  Pompey  am,  — 

Boyet.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

Cost.     "  I  Pompey  am,  — 

Boyet.  With  libbard's  head  on  knee. 

Bir.     Well    said,   old  mocker :    I   must    needs   be 
friends  with  thee. 

Cost.    "  I  Pompey  am,  Pompey  surnam'd  the  big,  — 
Dum.     The  Great. 

Cost.     It  is  great,  sir  ;  —  "  Pompey  surnam'd  the 
Great ; 
"  That  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  shield,  did  make 

my  foe  to  sweat : 
"  And  travelling  along  this  coast  I  here  am  come  by 

chance, 
"  And  lay  my  arms  before  the  legs  of  this  sweet  lass 

of  France." 
If  your  ladyship  would  say,  '  Thanks,  Pompey,'  I  had 
done. 
Prin.     Great  thanks,  great  Pompey. 
Cost.     "Tis  not  so  much  worth ;  but,  I  hope,  I  was 
perfect.     I  made  a  little  fault  in  '  great.' 

Bir.     My  hat  to  a  halfpenny,  Pompey  proves  the 
best  Worthy. 

Enter  Sir  Nathaniel  arined,  for  Alexander. 

Nath.     "  When    in   the   world   I   liv'd,  I    was    the 
world's  commander  ; 
"  By   East,  West,   North,   and    South,   I    spread    my 

conquering  might  : 
"  My  'scutcheon    plain    declares,   that   I    am  Alisan- 
der."  — 
Boyet.     Your  nose   says,  no,  you   are  not ;    for  it 
stands  too  right. 


432  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v 

Bir.  Your  nose  smells,  no,  in  this,  most  tender- 
smelling  knight. 

Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay'd.  Proceed,  good 
Alexander. 

Nath.  "  When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the 
world's  commander  ;  "  — 

Boyet.  Most  true  ;  'tis  right :  you  were  so,  Ali- 
sander. 

Bir.     Pompey  the  Great,  — 

Cost.    Your  servant,  and  Costard. 

Bir.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Alisander. 

Cost.  0  !  sir,  [to  Nath.]  you  have  overthrown 
Alisander  the  conqueror.  You  will  be  scrap'd  out 
of  the  painted  cloth  for  this  :  your  lion,  that  holds 
his  pole-axe  sitting  on  a  close  stool,  will  be  given 
to  Ajax  :  he  will  be  the  ninth  Worthy.  A  conquer- 
or, and  afeard  to  speak  ?  run  away  for  shame,  Ali- 
sander. [Nath.  retires.~]  There,  an't  shall  please 
you ;  a  foolish  mild  man  ;  an  honest  man,  look  you, 
and  soon  dash'd  !  He  is  a  marvellous  good  neigh- 
bour, in  sooth,  and  a  very  good  bowler ;  but,  for 
Alisander,  alas  !  you  see,  how  'tis  ;  —  a  little  o'er- 
parted.  —  But  there  are  Worthies  a  coming  will  speak 
their  mind  in  some  other  sort. 

Prin.    Stand  aside,  good  Pompey.    \_Exit  Costard. 

Enter    Holofernes    armed^  for  Judas,    and    Moth 
armed,  for  Hercules. 

Hoi.     "  Great  Hercules  is  presented   by  this   imp, 
"  Whose  club  kill'd  Cerberus,  that  three-headed 
cants  ; 
"  And,  when  he  was  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp, 

"  Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  manus. 
"  Quoniam,  he  seemeth  in  minority, 
"  Ergo,  I  come  with  this  apology."  — 


sc. 


II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  433 


[To  Moth.]     Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  van- 
ish. [£xif  Moth. 
"  Judas  I  am,  — 

Dum.     A  Judas  ! 

Hoi.     Not  Iscariot,  sir.  — 
"  Judas  I  am,  ycleped  Maccabeus.  — 

Dum.     Judas  Maccabeus  clipp'd  is  plain  Judas. 

Bir.     A    kissing    traitor.  —  How   art    thou    prov'd 
Judas  ? 

Hoi.     "  Judas  I  am,  — 

Dum.     The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas, 

Hoi.     What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

Boyet.     To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 

Hoi.     Begin,  sir :    you  are  my  elder. 

Bir.     Well  follow'd  :  Judas  was  hang'd  on  an  elder. 

Hoi.     I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Bir.     Because  thou  hast  no  face. 

Hoi.     What  is  this  ? 

Boyet.     A  cittern  head. 

Dum.     The  head  of  a  bodkin. 

Bir.     A  death's  face  in  a  ring. 

Long.     The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin  scarce  seen. 

Boyet.    The  pommel  of  Caesar's  faulchion. 

Dinn.     The  carv'd-bone  face  on  a  flask. 

Bir.     St.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 

Bum.    Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Bir.     Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer. 
And  now  forward ;  for  we  have  put  thee  in  counte- 
nance. 

Hoi.'   You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 

Bir.     False  :    we  have  given  thee  faces. 

Hoi.     But  you  have  out-fac'd  them  all. 

Bir.     An  thou  wert  a  lion,  we  would  do  so. 

Boyet.     Therefore,  as  he  is  an  ass,  let  him  go. 
And  so  adieu,  sweet  Jude  !  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay  ? 

VOL.    III.  B  B 


434  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        act  t. 

Dum.     For  the  latter  end  of  his  name. 

Bir.     For  the  ass   to   the  Jude  ?    give  it  him  :  — 

Jud-as,  away. 
Hoi.     This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 
Boyet.    A  light  for  Monsieur  Judas  !  it  grows  dark  ; 

he  may  stumble. 
Prin.     Alas,  poor  Maccabeus,  how   hath  he  been 

baited  ! 

Enter  Armado,  armed,  for  Hector. 

Bir.     Hide  thy  head,  Achilles  :    here  comes  Hec- 
tor in  arms. 

Dum.     Though    my   mocks    come    home    by  me,  I 
will  now  be  merry. 

King.     Hector  was  but  a  Trojan  in  respect  of  this. 

Boyet.    But  is  this  Hector  r 

King.     I  think  Hector  was  not  so  clean- timber' d. 

Long.     His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector's. 

Dum.      More  calf,  certain. 

Boyet.    No  ;    he  is  best  indued  in  the  small. 

Bir.     This  cannot  be  Hector. 

Dum.     He's  a  god  or  a  painter ;   for  he  makes  faces. 

Arm.     "  The    armipotent    Mars,   of  lances   the   al- 
mighty, 
Gave  Hector  a  gift,  — 

Dum.    A  gilt  nutmeg. 

Bir.     A  lemon. 

Long.     Stuck  with  cloves. 

Dum.     No,  cloven. 

Arm.     [Peace !] 
"  The  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  the  almighty. 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  Ilion  ; 
A  man  so  breath'd,  that  certain  he  would  fight,  yea, 

From  morn  till  night,  ovxt  of  his  pavilion. 
I  am  that  flower,  — 


sc.   II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  435 

Dum.  That  mint. 

Long  That  columbine. 

Ar7n.     Sweet  Lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 

Long.  I  must  rather  give  it  the  rein,  for  it  runs 
against  Hector. 

Dum.     Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Artn.  The  sweet  war- man  is  dead  and  rotten : 
sweet  chucks,  beat  not  the  bones  of  the  buried : 
[when  he  breathed,  he  was  a  man.]  —  But  I  will 
forward  with  my  device.  Sweet  royalty,  bestow  on 
me  the  sense  of  hearing.  [Bikone  goes  out. 

Prin.  Speak,  brave  Hector :  we  are  much  de- 
lighted. 

Ann.     I  do  adore  thy  sweet  Grace's  slipper. 

Boyet.     Loves  her  by  the  foot. 

Dum.     He  may  not  by  the  yard. 

Artn.     "  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal,  — 

Enter  Costakd,  hastily  and  unarmed,  and  Birone 

after  him. 

Cost.  The  party  is  gone  :  fellow  Hector,  she  is 
gone  ;  she  is  two  moneths  on  her  way. 

Arm.     What  meanest  thou  ? 

Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  play  the  honest  Trojan, 
the  poor  wench  is  cast  away  :  she's  quick  :  the  child 
brags  in  her  belly  already,  'tis  yours. 

Artn.  Dost  thou  infamonize  me  among  potentates  ? 
Thou  shalt  die. 

Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd  for  Jaque- 
netta  that  is  quick  by  him,  and  hang'd  for  Pompey 
that  is  dead  by  him. 

Dutn.     Most  rare  Pompey  ! 

Boyet.     Renowned  Pompey ! 

Bir.  Greater  than  great ;  —  great,  great,  great 
Pompey  !     Pompey  the  huge  ! 


436  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

Diim.     Hector  trembles. 

Bir.  Pompey  is  moved.  —  More  Ates,  more  Ates  ! 
stir  them  on  !    stir  them  on  ! 

Dum.     Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Bir.  Ay,  if  he  have  no  more  man's  blood  in's 
belly  than  will  sup  a  flea. 

Arm.     By  the  North  Pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Cost.  I  will  not  fight  with  a  pole,  like  a  north- 
ern man  :  I'll  slash  ;  I'll  do  it  by  the  sword.  —  I 
pray  yon,  let  me  borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dum.     Room  for  the  incensed  Worthies  ! 

Cost.      I'll  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.     Most  resolute  Pompey  ! 

Moth.  Master,  let  me  take  you  a  button-hole  lower. 
Do  you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncasing  for  the  combat? 
What  mean  you  ?    you  will  lose  your  reputation. 

Arm.  Gentlemen,  and  soldiers,  pardon  me ;  I  will 
not  combat  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.  You  may  not  deny  it :  Pompey  hath  made 
the  challenge. 

Arm.    Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Bir.     What  reason  have  you  for't  ? 

Arm.  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt. 
I  go  woolward  for  penance. 

Boyet.  True,  and  it  was  enjoin'd  him  in  Rome, 
for  want  of  linen ;  since  when,  I'll  be  sworn,  he  wore 
none,  but  a  dish-clout  of  Jaquenetta's ;  and  that  he 
wears  next  his  heart  for  a  favour. 

Enter  a  Messenger,  Monsieur  Mercade. 

Mercade.     God  save  you.  Madam. 

Prin.     Welcome,  Mercade, 
But  that  thou  interrupt' st  our  merriment. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry.  Madam,  for  the  news  I  bring 
Is  heavy  in  my  tongue.     The  King  your  father  — 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  437 

Prill.    Dead,  for  my  life  ! 

Mer.     Even  so  :    my  tale  is  told. 

Bir.      Worthies,  away  !    The  scene  begins  to  cloud. 

Arm.  For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breath. 
I  have  seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little  hole 
of  discretion ;   and  I  will  right  myself  like  a  soldier. 

[^Exeunt  Worthies. 

King.     How  fares  your  Majesty  ? 

Prill.     Boyet,  prepare  :    I  will  away  to-night. 

King.     Madam,  not  so  ;    I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Prill.     Prepare,    I    say.  —  I    thank    you,    gracious 
lords. 
For  all  your  fair  endeavours  :    and  entreat, 
Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
In  your  rich  wisdom  to  excuse,  or  hide, 
The  liberal  opposition  of  our  spirits  : 
If  over-boldly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
In  the  converse  of  breath,  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  it.     Farewell,  worthy  lord  !  ' 

A  heavy  heart  bears  not  a  nimble  tongue. 
Excuse  me  so,  coming  so  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain' d. 

King.     The  extreme  haste  of  Time  extremely  forms 
All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed  ; 
And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides 
That  which  loag  process  could  not  arbitrate  : 
And  though  the  mourning  brow  of  progeny 
Forbid  the  smiling  courtesy  of  love 
The  holy  suit  which  fain  it  would  convince, 
Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot, 
Let  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  justle  it 
From  what  it  purpos'd  ;    since,  to  wail  Mends  lost 
Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome,  profitable. 
As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 

Prin.     I  understand  you  not :    my  griefs  are  dull. 


438  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  v. 

Bir.     Honest   plain  words  best  pierce  the  ear  of 
grief ; 
And  by  these  badges  understand  the  King. 
For  your  fair  sakes  have  we  neglected  time, 
Play'd  foul  play  with  our  oaths  :   your  beauty,  ladies, 
Hath  much  deform'd  us,  fashioning  our  humours 
Even  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents  ; 
And  what  in  us  hath  seem'd  ridiculous,  — 
As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains. 

All  wanton  as  a  child,   skipping,  and  vain ;  ^•aHJ 

Form'd  by  the  eye,  and,  therefore,  like  the  eye,  '*'^ 

Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  forms. 
Varying  in  subjects,  as  the  eye  doth  roll 
To  every  varied  object  in  his  glance  :  ir. 

Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes. 
Have  misbecome  our  oaths  and  gravities. 
Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults. 
Suggested  us  to  make.     Therefore,  ladies,  j 

Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 
Is  likewise  yours  :    we  to  ourselves  prove  false. 
By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 
To  those  that  make  us  both,  —  fair  ladies,  you : 
And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin, 
Thus  purifies  itself,  and  turns  to  grace. 

Prin.     We  have  receiv'd  your  letters  full  of  love ; 
Your  favours,  the  ambassadors  of  love  ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 
At  courtship,  pleasant  jest,  and  courtesy, 
As  bombast,  and  as  lining  to  the  time. 
But  more  devout  than  this,  in  our  respects 
Have  we  not  been  ;    and  therefore  met  your  loves 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment. 

Diun.     Our  letters,  madam,  shew'd  much  more  than 
jest. 


sc.  II.         LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  439 

Long.     So  did  our  looks. 

Ros.  We  did  not  quote  them  so. 

King.     Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Prin.  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  make  a  world- without- end  bargain  in. 
No,  no,  my  lord,  your  Grace  is  perjur'd  much, 
Full  of  dear  guiltiness  ;    and  therefore  this.  — 
If  for  my  love  (as  there  is  no  such  cause) 
You  will  do  aught,  this  shall  you  do  for  me  : 
Your  oath  I  will  not  trust  ;    but  go  with  speed 
To  some  forlorn  and   naked  hermitage. 
Remote  from  all  the   pleasures  of  the  world  ; 
There  stay,  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  reckoning. 
If  this  austere  insociable  life 
Change  not  your  offer  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  frosts  and  fasts,  hard  lodging  and  thin  weeds, 
Nip  not  the  gavidy  blossoms  of  your  love. 
But  that  it  bear  this  trial,  and  last  love  ; 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year. 
Come  challenge  me :   challenge  me  by  these  deserts ; 
And  by  this  virgin  palm,  now  kissing  thine, 
I  will  be  thine,    and,  till  that  instant,  shut 
My  woful  self  up  in  a  mourning  house. 
Raining  the  tears  of  lamentation. 
For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 
If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part. 
Neither  in  titled  in  the  other's  heart. 

King.-    If  this,  or  more  than  this,  I  would  deny, 

To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest, 

The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye. 

Hence  ever,  then,  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 

Bir.    [And  what  to  me,  my  love  ?  and  what  to  me  ? 

Ros.    You  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rack'd  : 


440  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.         act  y. 

You  are  attaint  with  faults  and  perjury  ; 
Therefore,  if  you  my  favour  mean  to  get, 
A  twelvemonth  shall  you  spend,  and  never  rest. 
But  seek  the  weary  beds  of  people  sick.] 

Dum.     But  what  to  me,  my  love  ?  but  what  to  me  ? 

Kath.     A  wife  !  —  A  beard,  fair  health,  and  honesty  ; 
With  three-fold  love  I  wish  you  all  these  three. 

Dum.     O  !  shall  I  say,  I  thank  you,  gentle  wife  r 

Kath.     Not  so,  my  lord.     A  twelvemonth  and  a  day 
I'll  mark  no  words  that  smooth-fac'd  wooers  say  : 
Come  when  the  King  doth  to  my  lady  come, 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 

Dum.     I'll  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then. 

Kath.     Yet  swear  not,  lest  you  be  forsworn  again. 

Long.    What  says  Maria  ?  ^ 

Mar.  At  the  twelvemonth's  end, 

I'll  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 

Long.    I'll  stay  with  patience ;   but  the  time  is  long. 

Mar.     The  liker  you  :   few  taller  are  so  young. 

Bir.     Studies  my  lady  ?     Mistress,  look  on  me : 
Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye. 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there  ; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  thy  love. 

Ros.     Oft  have  I  heard  of  you,  my  Lord  Birone, 
Before  I  saw  you  ;  and  the  world's  large  tongue 
Proclaims  you  for  a  man  replete  with  mocks, 
Full  of  comparisons  and  wounding  flouts. 
Which  you  on  all  estates  will  execute. 
That  lie  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit. 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  your  fruitful  brain, 
And,  therewithal,  to  win  me,  if  you  please, 
(Without  the  which  I  am  not  to  be  won,) 
You  shall,  this  twelvemonth  term,  from  day  to  day, 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches  ;    and  your  task  shall  be, 


I 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  441 

With  all  the  fierce  endeavour  of  your  wit, 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Bir.    To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of  death  ? 
It  cannot  be  ;  it  is  impossible  : 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  soul  in  agony. 

Ros.     Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit. 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace. 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools. 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it :    then,  if  sickly  ears, 
'Deaf'd  with  the  clamours  of  their  own  dear  groans, 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  them, 
And  I  will  have  you,  and  that  fault  withal  ; 
But,  if  they  will  not,  throw  away  that  spirit, 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault. 
Right  joyful  of  your  reformation. 

Bir.    A  twelvemonth  ?  well,  befall  what  will  befall, 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 

Prin.     \_To  the  King.]    Ay,  sweet,  my  lord;  and 
so  I  take  my  leave. 

King.     No,   Madam;    we   will  bring  you   on  your 
way. 

Bir.    Our  wooing  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play; 
Jack  hath  not  Jill  :    these  ladies'  courtesy 
Might  well  have  made  our  sport  a  comedy. 

King.    Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day. 
And  then  'twill  end. 

Bir.  That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Armado. 

''    Arm.     Sweet  Majesty,  vouchsafe  me,  — 
Prin.    Was  not  that  Hector  ? 
Bum.    The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 
Arm.     I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger,  and  take  leave. 
B  b2 


442  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.         act  t. 

I  am  a  votary  :  I  liave  vow'd  to  Jaquenetta  to  hold 
the  plough  for  her  sweet  love  three  years.  But,  most 
esteemed  greatness,  will  you  hear  the  dialogue  that 
the  two  learned  men  have  compiled  in  praise  of  the 
owl  and  the  cuckoo  ?  it  should  have  followed  in  the 
end  of  our  shew. 

King.     Call  them  forth  quickly  ;   we  will  do  so. 

Ar7n.      Holla !    approach. 

Enter  Hoi-ofebnes,  Nathaniel,   Moth,  Costabd, 

and  others. 
This  side  is  Hiems,  Winter;    this  Ver,  the   Spring; 
the    one    maintained    by  the    owl,   the    other   by   the 
cuckoo.     Ver,  begin. 

Song. 

I. 

Spring.    When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  Hue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver  white, 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow  hue. 

Do  paint  the  meadows  loith  delight. 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he, 

Cuckoo  ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo, —  O  word  of  fear  ! 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear. 

II. 

When  shep)herds  pipe  on  oaten  straws. 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks. 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daios. 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks, 

The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 

Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he, 
Cuckoo ; 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  443 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo,  —  0  word  of  fear  ! 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear. 

III. 

Winter.  When  icicles  hang  hy  the  wall. 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail. 
And   Tom  hears  logs  into  the  hall. 

And  miJk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail. 
When  blood  is  nipp'd,  and  ways  be  foul. 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-ichit,  to-who,  —  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

IT. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  hloio. 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw. 
And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow. 

And  Marian  s  nose  looks  red  and  raw ; 
When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl. 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who  ; 
Tu-xohit,  fo-ioho,  —  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Arm.     The  words  of  Mercury  are  harsh  after  the 
songs  of  Apollo.     You,  that  way  :    we,  this  way. 

\  Exeunt. 


4 


NOTES  ON  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S 

LOST. 


ACT    FIRST. 


Scene  I. 


p.  349.     " a  little  Academe"  :  —  This  is  the  old  and  the  more 

correct  form  of  the  word  derived  from  the  Greek  AxaSyj- 
uiu.  The  modem  word  'academy'  was,  however,  in  use 
ill  Shakespeare's  day. 

"  "  You  three,  Birone  "  :  —  The  original  spells  this  French 

name,  in  all  cases,  "  Beroicne,"  which  expressed,  at  the 
time,  its  proper  pronunciation  very  exactly  —  both  the  e 
and  the  o  having  the  long  pure  sound.  (See  the  last 
paragraph  of  the  Introduction  to  Much  Ado  about  Noth- 
ing.) It  was  not  necessary  to  make  any  remark  upon  this 
name,  or  its  orthography,  luitil  late  in  the  last  century ; 
the  English  title,  which  in  this  century  became  so  illus- 
trious, having  until  that  time  been  pronounced  as  it  is  in 
this  play.  It  has  of  late  been  the  practice  to  print  it 
Birou,  sometimes  with  an  accent  on  the  o  ;  but  the  com- 
bination on  does  not  at  the  present  time  express  the  proper 
sound. 

p.  350.      " but   bankerout   the  Avits  "  :  —  an  old  form   of 

'bankrupt.'  The  qxiarto  has  "but  bankrupt  quite,"  Sec. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  '  bankerout '  and  '  bankrupt '  were 
pronounced  exactly  alike  ;  the  p  being  silent  in  the  lat- 
ter, (as  in  'accompt,'  'contempt,'  '  solcmpnity,'  &c.,)  and 
both  the  ou  and  the  u  having  the  second  sound  of  u,  like 
00  in  '  shoot.'  The  e  in  '  banke-rout '  is  a  superfluous  ter- 
minal of  the  first  word  of  the  compound  ;  and  as  such  it 
was  sometimes  a  syllable,  sometimes  silent,  and  some- 
times omitted  in  the  spelling  of  the  word.  '  Banke- 
rout '  should  be  retained  only  when  the  trisyllabic  form 
is  required  by  the  rhythm. 

(445) 


446  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  ACT   i. 

p.  35L      " from   common  sense":  —  i.e.,   from    common 

knowledge ;  as  Ave  have,  just  below,  "  When  mistresses 
from  common  sense  are  hid."  As  in  general  speech  '  com- 
mon sense  '  means  a  faculty  of  the  mind  iiastead  of  what 
it  is,  —  '  the  common  sense,'  i.  e.,  '  the  sense  common  to 
mankind,'  —  this  note  is  not  without  excuse. 

"When  I  to  feast"  :  —  The  original  has  "fast"  — 
a  manifest  misprint,  left  to  be  corrected  by  Theobald.  It 
was  also  corrected  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 

"  " and  that  most  vain  "  :  —  ITie  quarto  has  "  but." 

p.  352.     " an    envious,    sneaping   frost":  —  Sneaping  = 

snipping  =  nipping. 

"  "That  were    to    climb    the   house   o'er  to  unlock   the 

gate"  :  —  So  the  folio,  except  a  transposition —  "  ore  the 
house  "  —  which  destroys  the  rhythm  of  the  line.  The 
quarto  has,  — 

"  Climb  o'er  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate." 

The  alteration  in  the  folio  —  the  addition  of  three  words 
and  the  striking  out  of  one  —  is  plamly  the  result  of  no 
chance  of  any  kind.  More  important  differences  between 
the  authentic  text  and  some  earlier  one  —  such  as  the 
omission  of  several  essential  lines  —  can  be  justly  attrib- 
uted to  the  errors  or  the  forgetfulness  of  transcribers,  or 
the  accidents  of  the  printing  office  :  this  cannot :  it  is  clear- 
ly the  result  of  design.  Why  was  the  change  made  r  As 
clearly,  because  the  text  of  the  quarto,  which  may  or  may 
not  have  been  originally  written  by  the  author,  did  not 
express  his  thought.  Birone,  in  justification  of  his  rid- 
icule of  these  literary  pursuits,  says,  (according  to  the 
folio,)  that  they  are  imtimely,  that  he  likes  not  roses  at 
Christmas  or  snow  in  May,  and  adds,  '  so  it  is  too  late  for 
you  to  study  now  :  that  were  to  climb  over  a  house  to 
unlock  a  gate,'  or,  in  other  words,  '  you  are  begimiing  at 
the  wrong  end  —  doing  boys'  work  at  men's  years.'  But, 
according  to  the  quarto,  he  says,  '  I  like  of  each  thing  that 
in  season  grows  ;  so  you,  now  it  is  too  late  to  study, 
climb  over  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate'  :  whereas 
it  was  not  so,  (that  is,  like  Birone,)  at  all.  but  exactly 
not  so.  Therefore  the  construction  of  the  sentence  was 
changed  by  the  addition  of  the  first  three  A\ords  of  this 
Hne,  as  in  the  te.xt,  and  its  numbers  were  brought  within 
the  alexandrine  limits  so  frequent  in  these  plays,  by  the 
erasure  of  the  not  very  happy  word  'little  '  in  the  quarto. 
The  neglect  to  make  the  needful  transposition  of  '  house  ' 
and  '  o'er '  is  an  easy  oversight.  Editors  having  failed  to 
look  for  a  reason  for  the  difference  between  the  two  texts, 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  447 

and  merely  choosing  between  the  two,  have  all  hitherto 
given,  and  very  naturally  under  those  circumstances,  that 
oi"  the  older  copy;  but  !Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  l(j;i2  has 
"  Climb  ore  the  house-top  to  unlock  the  gate."  The  im- 
portance of  the  character  of  this  change  of  the  text  of  the 
quarto,  from  a  copy  of  which  the  folio  was  prmted,  is  the 
chief  reason  for  the  particularity  of  this  note.  Like  sim- 
ilar changes  in  the  text  of  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  it 
shows  that  though  the  quarto  is  the  older  edition,  the  folio 
is  the  higher  autliority.  The  line  "  So  you  to  study,"  &c., 
is  without  punctuation  of  any  kind  in  the  original. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  notice  the  folio's  misprint  of 
"Jit  you  out "  for  ''Jit  you  out,"  in  the  King's  next 
speech. 

p.  353.     " against  gentility  "  .  —  The  law  excluding  women 

from  the  Court  was  dangerous,  if  not  fatal,  to  gentle 
breeding,  gentilesse.  The  correctors  of  Mr.  Collier's  foHo 
of  1632,  and  of  Mr.  Singer's,  not  seeing  this,  read  '  gar- 
rulity ; '  against  which,  beside,  the  law  was  not  directed, 
although  the  penalty  was  fatal  to  it. 

"  " shall  possibly  devise  "  :  — The  quarto  has  '<  can." 

p.  354.  "  She  must  lie  here  "  :  —  Sir  Henry  Wotton  uncon- 
sciously "\\Tote  the  best  comment  on  this  phrase  in  a  pas- 
sage in  one  of  his  letters,  first  quoted  by  Heed  :  "  An  am- 
bassador is  an  honest  man  sent  to  lie  abroad  for  the  good 
of  his  country"  —  a  joke  which  has  doubtless  converted 
many  a  diplomatist  to  the  faith  of  Dr.  Johnson  in  the 
matter  of  puns. 

"  " this  word  shall  speak  for  me"  :  — The  foKo  has 

"  break  "  —  a  palpable  misprint. 

"  " no  quick  recreation  "  :  —  '  Quick  '  has  here  the 

sense  of  '  lively.'  '  Quick  '  was  sjnionjTnous  \Wth  '  alive ' 
in  Shakespeare's  time ;  and  we  still  speak  of  the  quick- 
ening of  a  child  in  the  womb. 

"  " a  man  of  complements  "  :  —  '  Complement '  and 

'  compliment '  were  in  Shakespeare's  time  spelled  alike  ; 
and  the  former  word  was  applied  to  an  individual  in  a 
sense  much  akin  to  that  radical  one  to  which  it  is  now 
restricted  —  completeness,  or  entire  accomplishment :  '  a 
man  of  complement,'  was  '  a  complete  man.' 

"  " the  world's  debate  "  .•  —  '  Debate  '  —  from   the 

French  '  debattre  '  —  had,  untU  Shakespeare's  day,  and 
after,  its  radical  meaning,  '  to  quarrel,'  or  '  to  fight.' 

p.  355.     " />e-new"  :  —  brand  or  bran  new. 

"  "  Enter  HvLz"  :  —  In  the  folio,  "Enter  a  Constable,"  &c. 


448  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  act  i. 


p.  355.      "  his  Grace's  tharborough  "  :  —  The  thirdborough 

was  a  minor  parish  officer  in  Old  England. 

the    contempts  thereof"  :  —  '  Contempts'    and 


'  contents '  used  to  be  pronounced  alike.  See  Note  on 
"  familiarity  will  breed  content."  Merry  Wives  of  Wind- 
sor, Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

a  low  having  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  heave7i."    The 


correction  was  made  by  Theobald. 

•or  ioTheai  laughing"  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have 


"  hearing."  Malone  merely  says,  "  One  of  the  modem 
editors  plausibly  enough  reads  laughing,"  and  Mr.  Dyce, 
appro\'uig  the  change,  attributes  it  to  Steevens,  although 
« laughing '  is  in  Capell's  text,  1768.  But  the  change  is  not 
plausible :  it  is  necessarj-.  Armada's  pomposity  is  kno^^^l ; 
and  when  Longaville  exclaims  "  God  grant  us  patience  !  " 
Birone  asks,  "  [For  what]  to  hear  or  forbear  laughing  [at 
what  we  hear  ?]  "  Longaville' s  reply,  "  To  hear  meekly, 
sir,  and  to  luugh  moderately,  or  to  forbear  both,"  compels 
the  change  ;  and  beside,  it  required  no  patience  to  forbear. 
hearing. 

" as  the  style  shall  give  us  cause  to  climb  "  :  — 

The  pun,  intended,  like  all  Shakespeare's,  for  the  ear 
only,  was  more  obvious  to  the  eye  m  his  day,  when  '  stj'le' 
and  '  stile '  were  spelled  alike. 

" taken  -n-ith  the  manner  "  :  —  A  thief  taken  with 


his  booty  in  his  hand  was  said  '  to  be  taken  with  the 
mamour '  —  from  the  French  main,  '  the  hand.' 

p.  356.     " in  telling  true,  but  so  "  .■  —  So  foho  and  quarto. 

Hanmer  needlessly  read  '  so,  so,'  and  has  been  very  gen- 
erally followed. 

"  " ycleped  "  :  —  called. 

p.  357.     *' thy  curious-knotted  garden  "  :  — The  garden  was 

so  called  from  the  curious  knots  into  which  the  walks 
were  twisted  by  the  fantastically-shaped  beds. 

"  ' that  shallow  vassal"  :  — Mr.  Collier's  foHo  of 

1632  has  '  vessel,'  It  is  not  improbable  that  this  was  the 
author's  word. 

p.  358.     " taken  with  a  damosel  "  : —  This  is  the  old  form 

of  '  damsel '  —  from  the  French  '  damoisell^-.'  The  word 
'  damsel,'  Avhich  appears  in  all  current  editions,  except 
Mr.  Knight's,  was  not  introduced  into  the  text  until  late 
in  the  last  century. 

p.  369.     " nntil  then.  Sit  down.  Sorrow  "  :  —  The  quarto 

has  '•  'till  then  set  thee  do\^-n  sorrow." 


SC.    II. 


NOTES.  449 


Scene  II. 


p.  3o9.  "  The  Park  near  Akmado's  House  "  :  —  There  are  no 
dii-ections  as  to  the  Scenes  in  the  original ;  and  this  was 
placed  in  Armada's  hoxise  by  Pope,  who  has  hitherto  been 
invariably  followed.  But  Moth's  speech,  "  Forbear  till 
this  companij  be  past,"  shows  that  they  stood  in  the  park, 
not  in  the  house.  Throughout  this  Scene,  with  two  ex- 
ceptions, Armado  is  styled  Braggart  in  folio  and  quarto. 

"  Enter  .  .  .  Moth  "  :  —  I  have  not  the  least  doubt 
that  the  name  of  Armark's  page  is  not  Moth,  but  Mote  — 
a  "  congruent  cpitheton  "  to  one  whose  extremely  dimin- 
utive person  is  frequently  alluded  to  in  the  play  by  phrases 
which  seem  applicable  only  to  Tom  Thumb.  That  '  mote  ' 
was  spelled  tnoth  we  have  evidence  twice  in  one  line  of 
this  play,  (Act  IV.  Sc.  3,)  which  stands  in  the  origmal,  — 

"  You  found  his  Moth,  the  King  your  Moth  did  see,"  — 
also  m  the  folio wiirg  from  King  John,  Act  IV.  Sc.  1, — 

"  O  heaven,  that  there  were  but  a  moth  in  yours,"  — 
and,  in  fact,  in  every  case  in  which  the  word  appears  in 
the  tirst  folio,  as  well"  as  in  all  the  quartos.  Wicliff  wrote 
in  Matthew  vi.,  "  were  rust  and  mought  distryeth."  In- 
deed, it  seems  far  from  improbable  that  the  two  words 
ij  were  originally  one,  and  that  'mote'  is  not,  as  Richard- 

son sitpposes,  from  '  mite.'    For  both  '  mite '  and  '  mot  [c] ' 
lyi.  are  found  in  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  which  language  '  moth ' 

is  nioghte  ;  and  the  idea  of  smallncss  would  naturally  come 
to  be  expressed  by  a  word  which  is  the  name  of  so  well- 
known  and  so  diminutive  an  insect.     "  Moth  "  is  allowed 
^' '  to  remam  in  the  text,  because  the  name  of  the  insect  hav- 

!#,  ing    been   sometimes   so   spelled   in   Shakespeare's    day, 

(though  ge-neraUy  moathe  or  mothe,)  that  may  possibly 
have  been  the  word  intended,  in  spite  of  the  spelling  of 
'  mote '  in  this  very  play,  —  because  it  is  sufficiently  ex- 
pressive of  the  Liliputian  dimensions  of  the  page,  —  and 
because,  to  disjjlace  what  has  remained  so  long  in  the 
text,  when  there  is  no  absolute  necessity  for  domg  so, 
would  be  doing  almost  wanton  violence.  But  whether 
the  name  is  Moth  or  Mote,  it  is  plam  that  the  pronun- 
ciation was  mote.  See  Introduction  to  Much  Ado  about 
Nothing,  and  the  Note  on  "  Peasblossom,  Cobweb,  Mote, 
and  Mustardseed."     M.  N.  Dream,  Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

p,  359,     « clear  imp"  :  —  This  word  really  means  '  scion,' 

and  of  old  was  applied  to  any  child,  though  chiefly  to 
boys. 
"  I' my  tough  seigneur  "  :  —  So  the  original,  uni- 

formly, when  the  word  occurs  in  this  play,  excepting  an 
VOL.   III.  0  C 


■^ 


sir? 


450  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S    LOST.  ACT  I. 


omission  of  the  first  c,  duo  to  ignorance  or  carelessness. 
The  French  title  is  evidently  intended.  Malone  changed 
it  to  '  senior,'  thus  destroying,  at  once,  Moth's  pun  on  that 
word,  and  an  important  textual  trait  of  the  play.  He 
also  erroneously  stated  that  the  original  word  is  'signior.' 
He  has  hitherto  been  followed  in  both  respects  without  a 
question. 

p.  360.      " that  an  eel  is  ingenious  "  ;  —  The  folio  has  "  in- 

ffenuous."  The  words  were  not  distinguished  by  orthog- 
raphy in  Shakespeare's  time. 

"  " crosses  love  not  him  "  :  — Pieces  of  money  were 

called  '  crosses,'  from  the  cross-like  division  by  which  the 
arms  on  one  side  were  quartered. 

"  " the  base  vulgar   [do]   call  three  "  :  —  '  Do  '  is 

from  the  quarto. 

"  " the  dancinfj  horse"  :  —  This  horse  Avas  famous 

over  Europe  for  the  strange  feats  that  he  had  been  taught 
to  perform  by  Banks,  his  owner,  whom  his  intelligence 
.and  un-horse-ly  accomplishments  brought  under  suspi- 
cion of  witchcraft.  Allusions  to  him  are  frequent  in  the 
literature  of  the  time.     Ilis  name  was  Morocco. 

p.  361.  "  Most  maculate  thoughts  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  immac- 
ulate," which  Moth's  rhymes  below  show  to  be  wrong. 
The  quarto  is  correct. 

p.  362.      " a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  Kmg  and  the  Beggar  "  :  — 

For  this  ballad,  of  King  Cophetua  and  the  Beggar-Maid, 
see  Percy's  lieliques.  First  Series,  Book  II. 

"  '^  Enter  Dull,    Costard,    and  Jaquenetta  "  : — The 

original  direction  is,  "  Enter  Cloirne,  Constable,  and 
Wench.'"  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  nothing  de- 
rogatory was  intended  to  .Jaijuejietta  by  this  designation. 
Piers  Ploughman  says  of  the  Incarnation,  — 

"  And  in  the  wombe  of  that  irenche  he  was  foiirty  weeks 
And  man  by-came  of  that  mayde.  to  save  man  kynde." 
Long  past  Shakespeare's  time  any  young  woman,  even  of 
princely  rank,  was  called  a  '  wench.' 

p.  363.      •' for  the  day-woman  "  :  —  i.  e.,  the  dairy-woman. 

The  etymology  is  considered  uncertain ;  but  only,  it  would 
seem,  because  there  are  so  many  similar  words  in  the 
northern  Uuiguages  from  which  it  might  be  derived  — 
all  of  which  arc  connected  with  the  idea  of  a  mother's 
suckling  her  babe.     The  word  is  still  in  use  in  Scotland. 

"  "  "With  that  face  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  irhat ;  "   Init  this 

is  a  typographical  error  for  the  word  in  the  text,  (which  is 
found  in  the  quarto,)  as  we  may  fairly  presume  from  the 


S 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  451 

existence  of  the  phi-ase  to  a  late  date  in  England  as  a 
common  repartee. 

p.  363.  "  Come,  Jaqiienctta,  away  "  :  —  In  folio  and  quai'to 
this  speech  is  assigned,  erroneously,  to  Costard,  with  the 
prefix  "C'/o[wn]"  —  the  mistake  being  caused  by  the 
identity  of  the  initial  letters  of  '  Clown  '  and  '  Constable.' 

"  " more  bound  to  you  than  your  folloioers  "  ;  — 

The  original  has  "  fellowes  "  —  an  easy  tj'pographical 
error  for  the  word  in  the  text,  which  is  found  in  Capell's 
edition.  The  Braggart's  fellows  were  not  "  rewarded  " 
by  him,  "  lightly  "  or  other^\'ise :  hardly,  his  followers ;  al- 
though, on  giving  Costard  the  "  remuneration,"  (Act  III.,) 
he  says,  "  the  best  ward  of  mine  honour  is  rewarding  my 
dependants."  This  confirms  the  reading  here  adopted; 
for  it  shows  both  how  lightly  rewarded  his  followers  were, 
and  that  he  was  somewhat  sensitive  upon  the  point. 

"  " to  be   [too']  silent  "  :  —  '  Too  '  is  found  only  in 

the  quarto. 

p.  364.  "Yet  ^cas  Samson  so  tempted":  —  Thus  the  quarto. 
In  the  folio  the  words  "was  Sampson"  are  transposed, 
by  accident,  evidently,  as  we  see  by  the  next  clause  of 
the  sentence,  in  which  the  characteristic  precession  of  the 
nominative  by  the  verb,  appears  in  both  copies. 

"  "  The   first   and  second   cause  "  :  —  See   Touchstone's 

exposition  of  the  Code  of  Quarrel.  As  You  Like  It,  Act 
y.  Sc.  4. 

"  "  I  shall  turn  sonnets  "  :  —  The  origiiral  has  "  sonnet," 

—  an  easy  misprint.  We  still  speak  of  turning  tunes  or 
turning  sentences.  Ilanmer  read  '  sonneteer,'  aiid  has 
hitherto  been  universally  followed.  But  that  form  was 
not  known  in  Shakespeare's  day.  If  so  great  and  un- 
necessary a  change  in  the  original  word  were  to  be  made, 
w'e  should  read  '  sonnet<«<  ,• '  as  in  Bishop  Hall's  Satire, 
quoted  in  liichardson's  Dictionary  :  — 

"  And  is  become  a  new  found  sonnetist." 


ACT    SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

p.  365.  "  Good  Lord  Boyet  "  :  — In  the  folio  this  speech  has 
two  prefixes,  "  Queen"  and  "  Prin."  :  the  former  at  the 
conmiencement,  the  latter  at  the  line  "  You  are  not  igno- 
rant," &c.  Margaret  and  Katharine  are  called  \st  and 
2d  Lady. 


452  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.        act   li 

p.  366.  "  Therefore  to  's  seemvth  it,"  &e.  :  —  Thus  the  original. 
It  has  been  hitherto  changed  to  "  Therefore  to  us  scem'th," 
&c. 

"  "  Of  Jaques  Falcpnbridge,  solemnized." 

The  pronunciation  solenuii-zed  obtained  until  after  Mil- 
ton's day.     See  the  last  Note  but  one  on  The  Tempest. 

"  "  Well  fitted  in  arts  "  :  —  The  second  folio  attempts  to 

make  this  line  rhythmical  by  reading  "in  the  arts  ;  "  but 
this  huddles  "glorious"  into  tAvo  syllables.  If  there  is 
an  error  in  the  text,  it  is  probably  a  transposition,  and 
we  should  read, 

"  In  arts  well  fitted,  glorious  in  amis." 

p.  367.  "  Here  comes  Boyet "  :  —  The  quarto,  followed  by  Mr. 
Collier,  (of  course,)  and  by  Mr.  Hudson,  gives  these 
words  to  a  Lord ;  the  folio  assigns  them  to  Margaret,  who 
is  in  haste  to  change  the  subject  upon  Avhich  the  Princess. 
has  begun  to  rally  her  ladies.  Plainly  an  intentional  and'f 
authoritative  change  tliis,  and  not  a  misprint. 

p.  368.  "  Why,  icill  shall  break  it ;  will,  and  nothing  else": 
It  seems  quite  probable  that  Shakespeare,  whose  per- 
son and  manner  fitted  him  for  the  part,  played  the  King, 
and,  knowing  that  he  would  do  so,  made  here  a  play  upon 
his  name  similar  to  that  in  his  13oth  Somiet :  else  the  as- 
severation and  reply  seem  somewhat  forced.  There  is  a 
tradition  that  he  played  royal  characters.  Sec  Life,  Vol.  I. 

p.  369.  "  'Tis  'long  of  you  "  :  —  English  editors  think  it  neces- 
sary to  explain  "  this  ancient  idiom,"  as  they  call  it ;  but 
» it's  all  along  of  you,'  in  the  sense  of  '  it's  because  of 
you,'  is  common  enough  in  America  ;  although  among 
cultivated  persons  it  is  generally,  if  not  ah^ays,  used  m 
the  way  ot  badinage. 

p.  370.     " would  I  yield  unto  "  :  —  The  quarto  has,  "  /  will 

yield  unto." 

"  " in   my    gates  "  :  —  The    quarto,    "  within   my 

gates." 

"  " fair  harbour  in  my  house"  : — The  folio  mis- 

prints, *^ further  harbour,"  &c. 

p.  37L  "  Birone.  Lady,"  &c.  : — This  and  the  five  following 
speeches  arc  assigned  to  Bo!/[c'f]  in  the  folio  ;  but  jjlainly 
through  a  mistake  caused  by  the  identity  of  initial  letters ; 
for  the  sixth  speech  has  the  prefix  Ber[oicne.] 

"  "Is  the  fool  sick"  :  — The  folio  misprints  "fotil,"  or 

"foul." 

"  "No,  point"  :  —  A  pun  is  intended  upon  the  strong 


^• 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  453 

French  negative,  non,  point.  It  is  noteworthy  that  it 
occurs  twice  in  this  play.     See  Act  V.  Sc.  2,  p.  421. 

p.  371.  "  Sir,  I  pray  you,"  &c. :  —  Here  the  original  has  a  stage 
direction,  "  Enter  Dumane,"  and  below,  at  "  what's  hci 
name,"  "  Enter  Beroune."  This  is  owing  to  the  very  fraall 
stage  on  which  the  coiucdy  was  played.  Neither  is  sup- 
posed to  have  left  the  company. 

"  "  The  heir  of  Alen<;on,  Katharine,"  &c. :  —  Here  the 

original  has  "  Rosaline,"  who  is  Birone's  mistress,  and 
afterward,  when  he  makes  uniuiry.  "  Katharine,"  who  is 
Daniaiiie's.  In  the  first  part  of  this  Scene,  we  see  that 
Maria  is  presented  as  in  some  way  connected  "with 
the  house  of  Falconbridge,  and  Katharine  with  that  of 
Alen(:on.  '  Bq/'a/inc'  and  'Katharine'  might  be  easily 
mistaken  in  old  MS.  ;  but  the  error  is  one  which  we  nat- 
urally expect  to  tind  rectified  in  the  folio.  I  learn  from 
,,.'        ^Ir.  Singer's  new  edition,  that  this  correction  has  been 

••■■""  previously  suggested  in  Xofes  and  Queries.     The  dithculty 

occurred  to  Steevens  ;  and  Malone  thought  he  settled  it 
by  showing  that  all  the  ladies  wore  masks  ;  but  he  forgot 

j^'  that  their  lovers  recognized  thenr  in  spite  of  their  masks. 

See  the  first  three  speeches  of  Birone  and  Rosaline  at  this 

■<^  interview. 

?.     "  "I   have  heard  —  on  your  beard": — 'Heard'    and 

f  '  beard '    are    now    no   more    rhymes    than    '  heard '    and 

'  board  ;  '  but  at  the  time  when  this  comedy  "was  Avritten 
they  were  pronounced  alike.  The  same  is  true  of  'jest' 
and  '  beast,'  some  Imes  below,  and  of  numberless  other 
rhymes  in  this,  and  of  some  in  every  play  of  Shakespeare. 

p.  372.  "  My  lips  are  no  eommon,  though  several  they  be"  :  — 
Maria's  meaning  and  her  first  pun  are  plain  enough  : 
the  second  has  been  hitherto  explained  by  the  statement 

>  that  the  several  or  severcll  in  England  was  a  part  of  the 

common,  set  apart  for  some  particular  person  or  purpose, 
and  that  the  town  bull  had  equal  right  of  pasture  in  com.- 
mon  and  severell.  It  seems  to  me,  ho^^•evcr,  that  we  have 
here  another  exhibition  of  Shakespeare's  familiarity  with 
the  Law  ;  and  that  the  allusion  is  to  tenancy  in  common  by 
several  (i.  e.,  divided,  distinct)  title.  Thus,  —  "  Tenants 
in*  C'onunon  are  they  which  have  lands  or  Tenements  in 
Fee-simple,  fee  taile,  or  for  tcrme  of  life,  &c.,  and  they 
have  such  Lands  or  Tenements  by  scverall  Titles,  and  not 
by  a  joynt  Title,  and  none  of  them  know  by  this  his  sev- 

»-'  erall,  but  they  ought  by  the  I^aw  to  occupie  these  Lands 

or  Tenements  in  common  and  jn-o  indiciso,  to  take  the 
profits  in  Common."  Coke  upon  Littleton,  Lib.  III.  Cap. 
4,  Sect.  292.     "  Also  if  lands  be  given  to  two  to  have  ;uid 


454  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST,     act  hi. 

to  hold  s.[everallY]  the  one  moity  to  the  one  and  to  his 
heires,  and  the  other  moity  to  the  other  and  to  his  heires, 
they  are  Tenants  in  Common."  Ibid.,  Sec.  298  ;  and  see 
this  Chapter ;jas67'«j.  Marias  lips  were  several  as  being 
two,  and  (as  she  says  in  the  next  line)  as  belonging  in 
common  to  her  fortunes  and  to  herself;  but  yet  they 
■were  no  common  pasture. 

p.  373.  "  Boyct  is  dinpos'd"  : — Boi/ef  quibbles:  the  Princess 
meant,  '  inclined  to  wanton  merriment.'  Mr.  Dyce  was 
the  first  to  show,  in  his  Notes  on  Beaumont  and  Fletch- 
er's ll'it  without  Money,  and  in  his  first  volume  of  Shake- 
spearian Notes,  that  '  disposed  '  had  this  signification. 

ACT    THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

p.  374.  Theobald  included  this  Act  in  the  second,  and  began 
the  third  Act  where  the  fourth  begins  in  the  original,  the 
fourth  at  the  beginning  of  the  original  fifth,  and  the  fifth 
in  the  middle  of  Scene  second  of  that  Act,  where  the 
King  and  his  courtiers  return  to  the  Princess'  pavilion  in 
their  proper  habits.  His  reason  for  so  doing  was,  the 
disproportionate  length  of  the  original  Acts,  which  is 
manifest  to  every  reader  ;  but  so  little  was  gained  by  the 
alteration,  that,  although  he  was  follo^\■ed  for  a  time,  the 
first  arrangement  was  soon  resumed,  and  has  since  been 
presei-vcd. 

"  "  Concolinel  "  ;  —  The  original  has  here  simply  "  Moth. 

Concolinel."  The  Avord  is  incomprehensible  ;  and  it  has 
been  generally  supposed  to  be  the  beginning  of  some  Ital- 
ian song  that  is  lost ;  though  why,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say.  The  corruption  is  probably  irremediable  ;  but  it 
has  occurred  to  me  that  '  concolinel '  might  be  a  distort- 
ed direction  for  musical  expression  (as  almost  all  such 
begin  with  '  con  ')  which  had  been  ignorantly  foisted  into 
the  text  instead  of  the  first  words  of  the  song.  These, 
according  to  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632,  were  Amnfo  bene ; 
but  Dr.  Kimbault,  whose  opinion  merits  high  considera- 
tion, thinks  that  Italian  solos  were  unknown  in  Shake- 
speare's England. 

''  " bring  him  festinately  "  ;  —  hastily. 

"  " a  French  braid"  -.  —  A  brawl  or  bransle  was  a 

dance,  of  A\hich  Marston  gives  the  following  very  partic- 
ular, and,  I  suppose,  lucid,  description  in  his  Malcontent : 
—  "  'tis  but  two  singles  on  the  left,  two  on  the  right,  three 
doubles  for\\ard,  a  traverse  of  six  round  :  do  tliis  twice, 


k 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  455 

thi-ec  singles  side,  galliard  tricke  of  twcntie,  coranto  pace  : 
a  figure  of  eight,  three  singles  broken  downe,  come  up, 
meete  two  doubles,  fall  backe  and  then  honoxir."  Act  IV. 
Sc.  2.  '  Honour '  —  a  common  term  for  '  salute '  —  here, 
perhaps,  means  '  kiss  ;  '  for  at  this  feature  of  the  dance 
in  question  was  launched  much  nasal  thunder. 

p.  374.     " by  turning  up  your  eye  "  :  — The  quarto  has 

"  your  eye-lids  ;  "  but  it  is  the  eye  and  not  the  eye-lid 
that  affected  people  raise ;  and  the  eye-lid,  when  raised, 
is  lifted,  not  turned-up  :  yet  in  spite  of  this  and  of  the 
authority  of  the  folio,  every  editor  liitherto  has  silently 
followed  the  quarto. 

p.  375.      "  By  lay penni/,"  &c. :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have  "penne." 

"  " the  hobby-horse  is  forgot  "  :  —  Mof/>  waggishly 

thrusts  ujjon  Armado  the  first  line  of  an  old  song,  fre- 
quently alluded  to  in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  which  Mr. 
Collier  supposes  to  have  been  written  on  the  omission  of 
the  hobby-horse  in  the  May  games.  It  is  mentioned  again 
in  Hamlet,  Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

p.  376.  "  Most  rude  melancholy  "  :  —  The  corrector  of  Mr.  Col- 
lier's folio  of  1632  read,  "  ?}ioist  eyed  melancholy  ;  "  but 
had  he  considered  the  context,  he  would  have  seen  that 
Armado  calls  melancholy  rude  because  she,  in  his  j^erson, 
sighs  in  the  welkin's  face. 

"  " a    Costard   broken   in   a  shin  "  :  —  3Ioth   cries 

'•wonder,"  because  '  costard'  means  'head.' 

no  salve  in  them  all,  sir  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto 


have  "no  salve  in  t/tee  male,  sir."  The  correction  was 
suggested  by  Tyrwhitt,  and  was  also  found  in  !Mr.  Collier's 
foUo  of  1632.  In  most  MS.  it  is  difficult  to  tell,  except 
by  knowledge  of  the  word,  a  final  II  from  a  final  le,  and 
the  attributing  the  m  to  the  wrong  word  comjDletecl  this 
blunder. 

is  not  I' envoi/  a  salve  ?  "  —  It  was  discovered  in 


•^ .  the  last  century  that  there  was  a  "  quibble  "  to  be  sneered 

r^  •  at  here  ;  but  how  to  get  at  it  they  hardly  knew.     Monck 

'^•,i  Mason  says  that  "  it  operates  ujion  the  eye,  not  the  ear ;  " 

'v.  ^ ■  and  Farmer,  who  attempted  to  prove  that  Jonson  told  an 

'^  uiltruth,  in  saying  that  Shakespeare  knew  a  little  Greek 

and  a  little  more  Latin,  could  "  scarcely  think  that  Shake- 
speaie  had  so  far  forgotten  his  little  school  learning  as  to 
suppose  the  Latin  verb  salve  and  the  English  substantive 
salve,  had  the  same  pronunciation."  It  were  to  be  wished 
that  Farmer  had  shown  as  much  knowledge  of  the  pro- 
nunciation, or  of  the  meaning  of  Shakespeare's  English, 
as  Shakespeare  showed  of  the  pronunciation  of  Latin.    In 


456  LOVE'S    LABOTTR'S    LOST,     act  hi. 

Shakespeare's  day  the  /  -^vas  pronoimccd  in  '  salve,'  as  it 
was  in  '  calf  and  '  half,'  and  as  many  other  letters  were 
which  were  silent  on  English  lips  when  Earmer  wrote. 
He  should  have  looked  forward  a  few  pages,  and  taken  a 
lesson  of  Ilolofernes,  or  have  come  to  America  ;  and  he 
would  have  learned  that  the  English  '  salve '  and  the  Latin 
'  salve  '  were  enough  alike  in  sound  to  justify  Moth's  pun. 

p.  377.  "  I  will  example  it "  :  —  These  words  and  the  eight 
following  lines  are  omitted  in  the  folio  ;  the  reason  being 
that  the  preceding  line  and  the  fourth  following  both  end 
in  ai/i,  and  that  the  line,  "  The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the 
humble-bee,"  is  repeated  three  times.  The  pruitcr  on 
looking  at  his  copy  took  the  latter  ain  for  the  former, 
which  he  had  put  in  type,  and  so  went  on  after  the  second 
repetition  of  "  The  fox,"  &c. 

by  [mak]mfj  four  "  :  —  The  original  has 


adding  four  ;  "  but  to  add  four  to  three  would  not  hi 
"  stay'd  the  odds."    The  correction  was  made  in  Mr.  C^ 
lier's  folio  of  1632.     It  is  barely  possible  that  'adding' 
was  written  thoughtlessly. 

p.  378.      "  And  he  ended  the  market  "  :  —  '  Three  women  and  a 
goose  make  a  market.'      Old  Proverb. 

"  " I  will  enfranchise  thee  "  :  —  Mr.  Collier's  folio 

of  1632  needlessly  reads,  "  marry,  I  -w-ill  enfranchise."  The 
ch  in  '  enfranchise  '  being  soft  at  the  date  of  this  play, 
there  was  ground  enough  for  the  clown's  punning  blunder. 

"  " set  thee   [free]   from   durance  "  :  —  Folio  and 

quarto  omit  '  free,'  A\hich  was  found  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio 
of  1632. 

"  " mine  honour"  : — The  folio  misprints  "hon- 

ours." 

"  " my  mcomj  Jew":  —  Wai-burton  said  " incony 

or  kony  in  the  north  signifies  '  fine,'  '  delicate,'  as  a  kony 
thill  (J  —  a  fine  thing.  It  is  related  to  the  Scotch  '  canny.'  " 
Mr.  Dyce  confirms  this.  '  Jew  '  is  used  as  '  fool,'  '  wretch,' 
and  '  dog '  sometimes  are,  in  a  pleasant  signification  which 
is  the  converse  of  ironical. 

the  price  of  this  inkle  ?  a  penny  "  :  —  Inkle  was 


a  kind  of  tape.     For  "  a  penny "  the  folio  has  merely 
"  i.  d." 

p.  379.  "  There's  thy  guerdo7i :  go.  —  Cost.  Gordon."  —  In  the 
original  JSirone  is  represented  as  giving  this  French  name 
for  rcnuineration  correctly,  and  the  clown  as  mispro- 
nouncing it  ;  —  a  trilling  but  characteristic  distinction, 
neglected  by  all  editors  hitherto,  except  Mr.  Knight,  — 


sc.   I.  NOTES.  457 

even  by  the  careful  Capell.  It  would  not  be  -worthy  of 
particular  mention,  except  to  remind  the  reader  that  there 
are  many  hundreds  of  like  restorations  of  the  original  text 
(aside  from  those  of  more  importance)  which  are  silently 
made  for  the  tirst  time  in  this  edition.  Farmer  pomted 
out  to  Steevens  this  joke  about  '  guerdon '  and  remunera- 
tion in  a  tract,  called  A  Health  to  the  Gentlemanli/  Profes- 
sion of  Serciiiff  Men,  by  J.  M.  ;  but  as  that  book  was  not 
published  until  the  year  in  which  tliis  play  was  printed, 
and  \\hen  it  had  been  on  the  stage  at  least  fovir  or  five 
years,  it  Avas  J.  M.  who  plagiarized  —  if  there  were  pla- 
giarism —  and  Farmer's  intended  detraction  fails  of  its 
object. 

p.  379.  "  O  /  this  afternoon  :  "  —  Birone's  constant  use  of  the 
exclamation  '  O  / '  which  is  ^particularly  noticeable  in  this 

..^  interview,  is  plainly  one  of  those  caricatures  of  verbal 

tricks  of  the  time  in  which  th's  c  me  y  a'  ounds. 

m  prmt  "  :  —  Costai'd  means,  '  jiimctually,  ex- 


actly.' 

.  p.  380.  "  This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf  "  :  —  The  original  has, 
"This  Siginor  Junios  gyant  di'awfe,"  '  Junios '  being  in 
italic  letter,  —  the  invariable  mode  of  printing  proper 
names  in  the  folio,  which,  save  for  the  lack  of  proof-read- 
ing, was  a  careful,  and,  for  the  day  and  country,  a  hand- 
some piece  of  prmters'  work.  The  readmg  in  the  text, 
which  is  now  universally  received,  was  first  suggested  in 
Theobald's  edition,  1733.  It  is  very  mgenious,  and  is 
supported  by  the  correspondent  contrast,  "  giant-dwarf," 
and  the  fact  that  in  Dromio  of  Syracuse's  last  speech  in 
the  Comedy  of  Errors,  'senior'  is  misprmted  "siynior"  in 
the  original.  It  is,  however,  not  at  all  impossible  that 
there  is  an  allusion  in  the  original  text  which  has  escaped 
detection,  or  is  entirely  lost.  The  double  misprint  and 
the  capital  and  italic  letter  of  the  second  word  make  an 
accumulation  of  errors  in  a  brief  space  which  shoiild  not 
be  lightly  assumed.  Theobald  supposed  an  allusion  t  ) 
Junius,  a  distracted  lover  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
Bonduca,  which,  however,  was  not  written  until  after  this 
play  appeared  ;  '\^'arburton  thought  Signior  Junio  to  be 
an  impersonation  of  youth  in  general ;  and  Upton  conjec- 
tured that  Shakespeare  "  mtended  to  compliment  JuHo 
Romano,  who  drew  C'upid  in  the  character  of  a  giant- 
dwarf,"  which  conjecture  was  considered  "very  ingen- 
ious "  by  Dr.  Johnson  ! 

'  "  Th'   anointed  sovereign  "  :  —  '  Sovereign  '  Ls   here   a 

trisyllable. 
"  "  Dread  prince  of  pkiekets  "  :  —  American  women  call, 


458  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST,     act  hi. 

and  time  out  of  mind  have  called,  that  aperture  in  their 
petticoats  (upper  and  under)  which  extends  from  the 
waist  about  one  quarter  down  the  back  of  the  skirt,  the 
placket-hole  ;  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  here  that 
'  placket '  meant  a  petticoat,  at  least  soon  after  Shake- 
speare -wTote.  But  iis  there  has  been  some  disagreement 
among  English  commentators  and  antiquarians  upon  the 
point,  and  as  Mr.  Suiger  has  been  misled  by  Florio  into 
saying  that  a  placket  was  a  stomacher,  which  explanation 
has  been  adopted  without  question  by  Mr.  Hudson,  it  may 
be  well  to  contii-m  what  should  need  no  contirmation,  by 
one  or  two  decisive  quotations  which  seem  hitherto  to 
have  escaped  attention.  In  Breton's  Pasquil's  Nlif/it  Cap, 
1612,  are  these  lines  :  — 

"  AVithin  this  church  an  image  was  erected 
Which  did  the  Lady  Fortune  represent, 

***** 

Within  her  lap  Avhole  bundles  did  there  lie 
Of  earthly  blessings  and  terrestriall  joyes 

***** 

Then  all  the  blessings  wliich  her  placket  fiU'd 
She  seem'd  to  shake,  and  on  his  head  distill' d." 

See  also  the  following  passage  in  The  Mirade,  a  Wliig 
lampoon  upon  the  pregnancy  of  James  II. 's  Queen. 

'<  The  Message  -with  hearts  full  of  Faith  were  \sic\  re- 
ceiv'd. 
And  the  next  news  we  heard  was  Q.[ueen]  M.[ary] 
conceiv'd. 

*  *  *  *  '  * 

Pray  Heaven  to  strengthen  her  Majestic' s  Placket, 
For  if  this  trick  fail  beware  of  your  Jacket." 

Poems  on  State  Affairs,  Vol.  I.  Part  II.  p.  185. 
Here  '  placket '  evidently  means  the  Royal  '  petticoat,' 
the  strength  of  which  was  all  important  in  sustaining  that 
which,  as  the  writer  insinuated,  produced  the  appearance 
of  pregnancy  in  the  Queen.  Mr.  Dyce  also  quotes  a  pas- 
sage from  Crowne's  Sir  Courtly  Sice,  saying  of  Eve,  that 
"  she  cuckolded  her  husl)and  with  the  serpent,  and  then 
pretended  to  modesty,  and  fell  a  making  plackets  pres- 
ently." Here  '  placket '  means  that  limited  covering 
which  barely  complies  with  the  demands  of  shame  in  the 
most  primitive  state  of  society.  And  finally,  it  seems 
that  in  spite  of  the  derivation  of  the  word  by  the  lexi- 
cographers from  the  Dutch  pkujtjhe  —  a  clout,  or  small 
piece  of  cloth  —  '  placket '  was  originally,  or  at  an  early 
period,  a  name  for  that  which  it  is  the  chief  office  of  the 
petticoat  to  conceal ;  and  that  this  meaning  was  attached 


6C.   T.  NOTES,  459 


to  it,  more  or  less,  for  a  long  time.  I  refer  the  reader  to 
the  second  clause  of  the  exclamation,  which  is  the  occa- 
sion of  this  note, —  to  a  speech  oi  Autolyeus,  in  The  Win- 
ter's Tale,  Act  IV.  Sc.  3,  in  which  he  talks  of  pinching 
a  placket,  —  to  a  speech  of  Edyar's  in  King  Lear,  Act  III. 
Sc.  4,  —  to  a  passage  in  Marston's  What  You  Will,  Act 
II.  Sc.  1,  in  which  '  apple-squire,'  which  Ave  know  w'as 
a  cant  term  for  a  kept-gallant  or  pimp,  is  used  as  sjTion- 
ymous  A\'ith  'page  of  the  placket,'  —  to  one  in  The  Com- 
icall  History  of  Francion,  fol.  1655,  Lib.  I.  p.  9,  —  and  to 
one  in  Middleton's  Any -thing  for  a  Quiet  Life,  Act  II. 
Sc.  2,  in  Avhich  the  word  is  derived  "  a  placendo,  a  thmg 
or  place  to  please."     Vol.  IV.  p.  448.     Ed.  Dyce. 

p.  380.  "  A  witty  wanton  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  a  whitely 
wanton."  The  text  is  from  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 
It  is  plainly  correct ;  for  Bosaline  was  in  no  sense  white- 
ly. We  are  told  again  and  again  that  she  was  the  dark- 
est of  brunettes,  and  also  that  she  was  witty,  —  which 
needs  no  telling. 


ACT    FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  382.  "  God  dig-you-den  all  "  :  —  A  rustic  corruption  of 
*  God  give  you  good  even  all.' 

p.  383.  "  Break  up  tliis  capon  "  :  —  To  break  up  a  fowl,  was  to 
carve  it,  cut  it  open  ;  and  capon  is  here  used  as  an  equiv- 
alent to  poulet,  which  in  French  means  both  a  chicken 
and  a  love-letter.  It  was  justly  considered  by  Douce  as 
one  of  the  indications  of  the  French  origin  of  this  play. 

/'  " which  to  annotanize  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  an- 

nothanize,"  which  has  been  universally  and  silently  taken 
to  be  a  corruption  of  '  anatomize.'  But  considering  the 
form  of  the  word  in  the  original,  and  that  the  Latin 
phrase  is  explained  and  commented  upon,  I  am  quite 
sure  that  '  annothanize  '  is  an  Armado-\sva.  for  '  amiotate,' 
which  was  in  use  in  Shakespeare's  time.  Note,  in  either 
cUse,  th  used  as  t. 

p.  384.  "  Thus  dost  thou  hear,"  &c.  :  —  These  lines  seem  to  be 
a  poetical  postscript  to  Armado's  letter  —  one  of  the  son- 
nets he  proposed  to  turn.  They  succeed  the  signature 
in  the  original,  without  a  prefix.  Warburton  thought 
them  "  a  quotation  from  some  ridiculous  poet  of  the 
time." 


460  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act  iv. 

p.  384.  " a  Monarcho  "  :  —  This  was  a  fantastic,  half- 
crazed  Italian,  %vell  known  in  London  when  Shakespeare 
first  arrived  there.  He  is  alluded  to  in  the  literature  of 
the  time  almost  as  often  as  Banks"  horse.  He  thought 
himself  sovereign  of  the  world,  and  that  all  the  ships  in 
port  belonged  to  him. 

p.  385.     " she  that  bears  the  bow  "  :  —  Rosaline  puns  upon 

Boijef  s  question.  '  Suitor '  was  pronounced  shooter  in 
Shakespeare's  day,  and  here,  indeed,  is  printed  so.  Just 
before  (Act  III.  Sc.  1,)  '  sue  '  is  printed  '  shue.' 

"  " both  did  hit  [/*]".  — 'It'  is  omitted  in  the 

original,  by  manifest  accident. 

p.  386.     " by  cleaving  the  pin  "  :  —  In  place  of  'pin,'  foUo 

and  quarto  repeat  "is  in,"  of  the  line  above.  The  cor- 
rection was  made  in  the  folio  of  1632.  The  "clout" 
Avas  the  white  object  which  served  as  a  mark,  and  which 
wat:  held  by  the  pin  in  the  middle. 

"  " too  much  rubbimj  "  :  —  a  term  used  by  bowlers, 

Malone  tells  us,  but  not  what  it  signifies. 

"  " o'  the  to  side  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  ath  to  the 

side,"  which,  in  all  modern  editions  hitherto,  has  been 
changed  to  "  o'  the  one  side."  This  gives  the  sense,  but 
by  introducing  '  one,'  which  docs  not  exist  in  the  text,  and 
taking  out  of  Costard's  mouth  a  phrase  which  he  meant  to 
use,  which  was  '  the  to  side,'  i.  e.,  '  the  hither  side,'  an 
old,  and  though  now  obsolete  or  vulgar,  a  correct  form 
of  expression.  It  is  of  great  antiquity,  reaching  back  to 
the  Middle  English  period,  at  least.  Wycliffe's  transla- 
tion of  the  New  Testament  —  made  about  1380  —  has, 
in  Matthew  vi.  24,  "  Noman  may  serue  to  two  lordis  | 
forsoth  outhcr  he  schal  hate  the  toon  &  loue  the  tother  ; 
outher  he  schal  susteyne  the  toon  &  dispise  the  tother  | 
yee  moAvne  not  serue  to  god  &  richefsis."  An  English- 
man and  his  wife,  bred  in  the  rural  districts  and  very  in- 
telligent people,  who  were  servants  in  my  father's  family, 
always  said  'the  to  side,'  and  '  t'e  other  side.' 

"  " how  most  s^^■eetly  'a  will  sivear  "  :  —  The  missing 

rhyme  to  this  word  seems  to  indicate  the  loss  of  a  line 
which,  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio,  is  thus  supplied  :  — 

"  I>ooking  babies  in  her  eyes,  his  passion  to  declare." 
But  the  rhyme  provided  here,  is,  to  me,  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  it  is  entirely  without  authority.  I  am  fully 
convinced  that,  at  the  time  A\hen  this  play  was  written, 
«  SMcar  '  was  pronouncc^d  sirccr,  and  that  all  words  of, 
similar  orthography  had  the  same  vowel  sound,  and  that 
this  can  be  proved,  if  indeed  it  has  not  been.     I  have  yet 


i 


sc.  II.  NOTES.  461 

to  leam,  however,  that  the  question  has  been  raised  by 
any  writer  upon  the  language. 

Scene  II. 

p.  387.     " ripe  as  a  pomeioater  "  :  —  a  species  of  apple,  not 

knouni  in  America,  I  beheve. 

a  buck  of  the  first  head  "  :  —  A  buck  of  the  first 


head  was  a  buck  five  years  old,  and  a  '  pricket '  was  a 
stag  of  the  second  year,  as  we  learn  from  a  passage  cited 
by  Malone  from  The  Return  from  Parnassus,  1606. 

p.  388.      "  (Which  we  o/ taste,"  &c.  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  omit 
'  of,'  the  need  of  which  was  pointed  out  by  Tyrwliitt. 

"  "  And  raught  not  "  :  —  and  reached  not. 

"  " to  humour  the  ignorant,  call  the  deer,"  &c.  :  — 

Folio  and  quarto  have  "caU'd,"  and  Howe  interpolated 
two  words,  and  read,  "  I  have  call'd,"  in  which  he  has 
hitherto  been  followed,  except  by  Mr.  Singer,  who  reads 
"  I  will  call."  But  the  real  misprint  is  trifling.  The 
Pedant  asks  the  Parson  to  hear  the  epitaph,  and  to  con- 
sent to  call  the  deer  a  pricket,  to  humor  the  ignorant. 

p.  389.      " affect   the  letter":  —  i.   e.,    affect   alliteration. 

Shakespeare  has  another  hit  at  this  affectation  in  the 
Prologue  to  Fyramus  and  Thisbe.  Midsummer-Night's 
Dream,  Act  V.  Sc.  1. 

"Whereat  with  blade,  with  bloody,  blameful  blade, 
He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling,  bloody  breast." 

"  "  Or  pricket  sore,  or  else  sorel "  :  —  A  sorrel  was  a  stag 

of  the  third  year  ;  a  '  scare'  or  'sore,'  one  of  the  fourth 
year,  as  we  are  told  in  the  extract  from  The  Return  from 
Parnassus,  referred  to  just  above. 

"  " how  he  claws  him  with  a  talent  "  :  —  '  Talon  ' 

was  often  written  '  talent '  in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  so 
pronounced.  '  Claw '  was  used  in  the  sense  in  which  we 
use  '  tickle'  m  the  adage,  'Tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle  you.' 
As,  for  instance,  "  there  is  nothing  maketh  the  seruant 
more  insolent  and  glorious  than  the  ouer  great  gentlenesse 
of  the  master  :  you  know  well  the  prouerbe, 
'  Claw  a  clowne,  he  will  thee  scratch. 
Scratch  a  clowne,  he  will  thee  claw.'  " 

Ciuazzo's  Civile  Conversation,  1586,  fol.  171  a. 

"         " if  their  sons  be  ingenuous  "  :  —  So  the  original, 

which  has  hitherto  been  changed  to  '  ingenious,'  because 
the  U\o  words  used  to  be  spelled  alike.  But  Holofernes 
had  not  forgotten  Tngenuus  puer. 


462  LOYE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.      act  iv. 

p.  390.  "  Master  Person,  —  quasi  pers-oii  "  :  —  The  name  for 
the  rector  of  a  parish,  now  rapidly  jDassiiig  out  of  use, 
-was  originally  •  person,'  as  we  see  by  Chaucer's  Persoiies 
Tale  :  <  parson '  is  a  comparatively  modern  corruption  ; 
the  derivation  being  from  'persona  ecclesue :'  see  Eutler's 
Grammar,  1633,  p.  3.  This  passage  is  one  of  two  in  this 
play  which  are  interestmg  and  valuable  as  contemporary 
records  of  pronunciation.  It  shows  that  the  combination 
p  e  r  s  and  the  word  '  pierce,'  as  well  as  the  words  '  on  ' 
and  'one,'  were,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  pronounced  alike. 
The  passage  is  prmted  thus  in  the  original,  with  one  of 
those  errors  in  the  prefixes,  which  ai-e  common  in  this 
Scene :  — 

"  Jaq.    God  giue  you  good  morrow,  M.  Person. 

Nath.     Master  Person,  quaji  Perfon.  And  if  one  should 
be  perft.  Which  is  the  one  ? 

Clo.     Marry,  M.  Schoolemafter,  hee  that  is  likest  to  a 
hoglhead. 

Nath.  Of  perfmg  a  Hogshead,"  &c. 
Plainly  from  this,  either  '  pierce '  was  then  pronounced 
purse,  as  p  er  s  would  be  now,  or  that  combination  was 
pronounced  as  '  pierce '  is  now.  But  to  decide  with  con- 
hdence  what  was  the  sound  of  p  e  r  and  p  i  e  r  when  this 
play  was  written  is  very  difficult  —  almost  impossible. 
That  simple  unaccented  vowels  had  their  pure  sound  two 
hundred  and  fifty  or  three  hundred  years  ago  in  number- 
less instances  in  which  they  have  lost  it,  there  seems  to 
be  no  reason  to  doubt ;  but  it  is  equally  certain  that  if 
this  were  the  result  of  a  general  rule,  the  rule  had  excep- 
tions ;  and  with  regard  to  the  pronunciation  of  diph- 
thongs, it  is  very  difficult  to  determine  either  the  rule  or 
the  exceptions.  In  the  present  instance  Falstaff's  speech, 
(Henri/  IV.  Part  L,  Act  V.  Sc.  3,)  "  if  Percy  be  alive, 
I'll  pierce  him,"  is  in  point ;  for  the  vowel  sounds  in  the 
two  italicised  syllables  were  evidently  alike ;  but  this 
only  shows  again  that  per  and  pier  were  pronounced 
alike ;  and  the  question  still  remains,  —  What  was  their 
common  sound  r  The  following  passages,  and  one  quoted 
in  the  Note  on  Falstaff's  pun,  may  answer  it  :  — 

"  Ilecr  with  her  faire  and  pearlesse  eies,  which  pearced 
have  my  heart." 

Giiazzo's  Civile  Conversation,  1586,  fol.  210. 
Fnmi  this  it  appears  that  the  first  syllables  of  'peer-less' 
and  'picr-ced'  were  pronoimced  alike.  In  Butler's  iiwy- 
lish  Urunimar,  Oxford,  1633,  is  an  Index  of  "  words  of 
like  sound  which  have  different  writing,"  &c.,  in  which 
are  these  enumerations  :  — 


ec.   II.  NOTES.  463 


«'  Peace,  pax  :  peas,  plsum. 

to  Pearce,  F.  pcrcer,  penetro  :  Pierce,  of  Pierre  [Peter]  : 

PEERES,  pares  or  mar/nates. 
a  PiEL  or  line,  cortex  :  to  piel,  decortico,  unde  pilled  : 
a  peel,  to  set  bread  into  the  oveu,  /;«/«,  F.  paelle  : 
a  PiL,  ptillula. 
a  Piece,  pars,  F.  piece  :  yet  where  a  piece  dooeth  signifie 
a  kind  [species]  (whether  it  be  put  absolutely,  or  with 
its  ijenus)  it  is,  for  difference,  written  with  ee  vouel ; 
as  a  peece  of  orcbiance,  &c.,  &c. 
to  Peep  or  look  out  :  to  piep  as  chicken  dooe,  pipio." 
There  is,  therefore,  evidence  of  the  best  kind,  that  im- 
mediately before  the   writing   of  this  play,  and  Avithin 
ten  years  after  the  pviblication  of  the  folio  edition,  the 
diphthongs  ea  and  ic  had  the  sound  of  ee  —  that  is,  the 
pure,  long  sound  of  e  ;  and  particularly  that  the  vowel 
sound  of  'pierce,'  or  (according  to  the  variable  orthog- 
raphy of  that  day)  '  pearce,'  meaning  to  penetrate,  was 
like  that  in  'peers.'     It,  however,   is  somewhat  against 
\-..--iy^\'  this  conclusion,  that  the  proper  name  Pierce  is  sometimes 

•;  pronounced  Purse  in  New  England.     For  instance,  the 

eminent  Cambridge   astronomer  is  called  by  his  friends 
Benjamin  Purse,  although  his  name  is  Peirce.     It  is  also 
to  be  considered  that  the  orthographies  person  and  parson 
■■  were  both  used  when  this  play  was  written,  and  that  the 

'  latter    and    a  pronunciation    conforming  to  the  modem 

force  of  it  have  prevailed :  '  clerk,'  too,  which  was  written 
clearke  and  clerke,  was  also  written  dark ;  '  Derby  '  was 
sometimes  spelled  Darby ;  and  both  these  words,  though 
f^^  spelled  with  e,  have  now  in  England  the  broad  sound  of 

|fe.  a.     Nor  can  we  disregard  the  large  class  of  words  (such 

^,  as  vermin,  serpent,  desert,  serve,  sergeant,  merchant)  in 

''■"  which  e  had  also,  luitil  a  comparatively  recent  date,  the 

broad  sound  of  a.  This  pronunciation  I  suppose  to  be  at- 
tributable to  the  fact  that  these  words  first  came  into  the 
language  with  the  Norman  French  sound  of  e,  i.  e.,  our 
name  sound  of  o,  which  was  corrupted  to  the  broad  sound 
of  that  letter,  and  has  finally  passed  into  the  u  sound  of  e. 

p.  390.     " good  old  Mantuan  "  :  —  Not  Virgil,  but  Battista 

Spagnolus,  who  wrote  toward  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  who  was  also  born  near  Mantua.     His  Ec- 

'^  logues  were  much  thought  of  by  the  pedants  of  the  day. 

^•*  The  lines  about  Venice  are  an  old  proverb,  and  are  to  be 

found  in  Florio's  Second  Fruits. 

p.  391.      " the  'ti)-ed  horse  "  ;  —  Another  reference  to  Banks' 

y,  horse,  which  was  attired  with  ribbons  and  gay  trappings. 

i^^  "  " the  intellect  of  the  letter  "  :  —  i.  e.,  the  addi-ess, 


464  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.       act  iv. 

that  wliich  gives  iiitelligence  of  its  destination.    Folio  and 
quarto  misprint  '  writing,'  in  the  next  line,  "  written." 

p.  392.      " I  do  fear  colourable  colours  "  :  —  This  common 

phrase  of  the   time  seems  to  have  meant    '  specious  or 
plausible  appearances.' 

" if  before  rcoast  "  :  —  The  folio  has,  "  beinff  re- 


II 


past. 


Scene  III. 


p.  393.      " and  so  say  I,  and  ay  the  fool  "  :  —  i.  e.,  confirm 

the  fool  in  what  he  said.  Here  and  just  after,  "  it  kills 
me,  ay  a  sheep,"  the  old  copies  of  course  print  "7  the 
fool"  and  "/  a  sheep;"  that  being  the  way  in  which 
'  ay '  is  always  spelled  in  them.  The  pun  is  patent,  even 
did  Birone  not  pat  himself  on  the  back  with,  "  Well 
proved,  wit  I  "  but  all  editions  hitherto  have  lost  it  by 
printing  '  I.' 

"  "  [Gets  up  into  a  tree  "  :  —  The  original  stage  direction 

is,  "  He  stands  aside ;  "  but  Birone's  position  is  evident 
from  the  text.  See  remarks  in  Vol.  I.  on  the  date  of  the 
corrections  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632. 

"  "The  nif/ht  of  dew  "  :  —  Mr.  ColUer's  folio  of   1632 

has,  "The  dew  oi  night,"  which  is  plausible  only:  the 
King's  night  of  dew  is  not  only  opposed  to  "  the  fresh 
morning  drops,"  but  expressive  of  his  gloom  during  the 
absence  or  indifference  of  his  mistress. 

p.  394.      " like  a  perjurer,  wearing  papers  "  ;  —  The  allusion 

is  to  part  of  the  punishment  of  a  convicted  perjurer,  who 
wore  on  his  breast  a  paper  stating  his  crime. 

"  "  The  shape  of  Love's  Tyburn  "  :  —  ^Ir.   Singer  says 

that  this  is  an  allusion  to  the  sometimes  triangular  gal- 
lows of  Shakespeare's  day. 

"  "  Disfigure  not  his  slop  "  :  —  Loose  breeches  were  called 

'  slops."  Folio  and  quarto  have  '  shop,'  which  Theobald 
corrected.  A  MS.  correction  m  the  Earl  of  Kllesmcre's 
copy  of  the  folio  of  1623  gives  '  shape,'  which  is  adopted 
by  -Sir.  Collier,  and  approved  by  Mr.  Dyce.  But  '  slop ' 
better  suits  Birone's  jeering  vein. 

p.  395.     " which  on  my  earth  do'st  shine  "  :  —  Thus  the 

folio:  the  quarto  has"does<  shine,"  and  "  exhah.s?  "  at 
the  beginning  of  the  next  line.  The  mark  of  contraction 
came  into  the  folio  by  accident  no  more  in  the  former  case 
than  in  the  latter ;  aiid  it  should  be  retauied,  or  the  spell- 
ing of  the  quarto  adopted,  unless  we  would  remove  from 
these  vorks  all  chronological  traces.     In  Shakespeare's 


i 


k 


sc.    Ill,  NOTES.  465 

day  '  dost,'  (i.  e.,  '  do-est,')  and  '  didst,'  (i.  e.,  '  did-est,') 
were  passing  from  their  dissyllabic  to  their  monosyllabic 
form.  Both  appeal*  in  the  former  shape  in  our  transla- 
tion of  the  Bible.  "  Therefore  when  thou  doesf  thine 
alms,"  &c.  {Maff.  vi.  2.)  "  Wilt  thou  kill  me  as  thou 
rf/f/(7cs<  the  Egj'ptian  yesterday  ?  "  (-Irfs  viii.  28.)  The 
contracted  '  dost '  appeai-s  to  have  had  the  pure  sound 
of  0,  not  that  of  u  in  '  dust.' 

p  39o.  "  By  Earth,  she  is  not :  Corporal,  there  you  lie"  :  — 
Thus  the  original,  except  a  comma  for  the  colon.  The- 
obald read,  "  she  is  but  corporal,"  (i.  e.,  corporeal,)  be- 
cause "  Dumaine  was  a  yoimg  lord,"  and  "had  no  sort 
of  post  in  the  army,"  in  which  he  has  been  followed  by 
all  editors  except  Mr.  Knight  and  Mr.  Collier,  although 
the  latter  accepts  tliis  meaning  of  '  corporal ;  '  the  former 
approves  Douce's  explanation,  that  Biroiie,  who  had 
before  called  himself  a  "  corporal  of  Cupid's  Held,  ap- 
plied the  title  to  his  friend  in  the  same  sense."  But  Du- 
maine quite  surely  had  a  post  in  the  army.  The  editors 
and  commentators  forgot  that  when  the  ladies  recount  the 
vows  and  proffers  of  their  misled  lovers,  (Act  V.  Sc.  2,) 
Maria  alone  says  that  Dumaine  "  and  his  sicord"  were  at 
her  service.  Besides,  Dumaine  said  nothing  in  the  speech 
on  which  Birone  comments  to  imply  that  his  mistress  was 
more  than  corporeal.  The  novel  on  which  this  play  is 
founded  would  doubtless  explain  why  Dumaine  is  called 
corporal,  and  why  he  only  is  made  to  talk  of  his  sword. 

p.  396.     " is  ever  May  "  :  —  The  folio  misprints  "  every." 


II 


••»; 


" fi-om    thy  thorn  "  :  —  Folio    and    quarto    have 

"throne"  —  an  easy  misprint,  as  'thorn'  was  spelled  with 
f-,.  a  final  e.     It  was  corrected  in  England's  Helicon,  1600. 

p.  397.  "Thou,  for  whom,"  &c.  :  —  Thus  folio  and  qiiarto. 
Pope  read  "  Thou  for  Avhom  ev'n  Jove,"  &c.,  and  !Mr. 
Collier's  folio  of  1632,  "  (jreat  Jove."  The  quantity  and 
accent  proper  to  '  thou '  make  any  addition  to  the  line 
superfluous. 

;•  " my  true  love's  fasting  pain  "  :  —  Both  Mr.  Col- 

lier's and  Mr.  Singer's  copies  of  the  folio  of  1632  read 
"  lasting  pain."  This  is  plausible  ;  but,  as  Mr.  George 
Hammersley,  of  Philadelphia,  pointed  out  to  me,  Du- 
maine's  was  a  fasting  pain  :   as  he  says  m  his  Somaet,  — 

" ray  hand  is  sworn, 

Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn." 

p.  398.  ["Descends"  :  —  The  original  has  no  stage  direction 
here.  It  is  noteworthy  that  Birone  does  not  say  '  Now  I 
descend,''  but  "  Now  step  1  forth,'"  which  betrays  the  poet's 

VOL.    III.  D  D 


466  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S   LOST.       act   it 


consciousness  that,  although  he  imagined  the  charac- 
ter to  be  in  a  tree,  the  actor  who  played  it  would  be  on 
the  same  plane  vrith  the  others.  See  the  examination 
of  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632,  in  the  History  of  the  Text, 
Vol.  I. 

p.  398.  <'  You  found  his  mote  "  ;  —  It  has  been  before  remarked 
that  the  original  has  "  moth  "  in  both  instances,  and  in 
all  others  in  -which  '  mote  '  occurs.  It  cannot  be  but  that 
the  words  were  pronounced  alike.  See  Introduction  to 
Muah  Ado,  &c.,  and  Note  on  "  Enter  Armado  and  Moth," 
Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

p.  399.  "  With  men  like  men,"  &c.  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  omit 
a  word  in  this  line  —  '  strange '  being  found  first  in  the 
second  folio.  Malone,  who  has  been  almost  universally 
followed,  read  "  »ioo/i-like  men  "  —  an  ingenious  alter- 
ation of  a  text  which  needs  no  emendation.  Birone  tells 
his  fiiends  that  after  all  their  vows  and  pretences  they 
are  men  like  other  men  —  no  less  inconstant.  Soon  after 
he  says,  — 

"  O  !   let  us  embrace. 
As  true  we  are,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be." 

"  "  What  present  hast  thou  there  ? "  —  that  is,  what  '  pre- 

sentment —  matter  to  be  presented.'  People  of  all  ranks 
brought  presents  to  kings,  it  is  true,  but  not  folded  up  in 
letters. 

p.  400.      " we  deserve  to  die  "  :  —  It  must  be  remembered 

that  theft,  as  well  as  murder,  was  formerly  punished  with 
death. 

p.  401.     " nor  I  Birone  "  ;  —  Because  this  name  here  rhymes 

with  '  moon,'  and  because  Mr.  Fox  said  Touloon  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  it  has  been  concluded,  without  suf- 
ficient reason  I  think,  that  Biroo/i  was  the  jsronunciation 
of  the  name  in  Shakespeare's  time.  Infinite  and  ridic- 
ulous were  the  affectations  of  the  elegant  folk  of  Mr. 
Fox's  day.  Perhaps  due  investigation  might  have  con- 
vinced the  editors  that  '  moon  '  was  pronounced  moivn, 
and  '  month  '  or  '  moneth  '  niownth  or  mown-eth  when 
this  play  was  Avritten. 

"  "  O  wood  divine "  :  —  The  original  has  "word." 

and  the  shade  of  night  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto 


have  "  schook  of  night."  The  word  in  the  text,  which 
was  found  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of  1632,  is  the  best  emen- 
dation wliich  has  been  offered  —  a  having  probably  been 
mistaken  for  o,  and  ol  for  d.  Theobald  suggested  '  stole,' 
Warburton  '  scowl,'  —  a  poor  word,  which  has  yet  kept 
a  place  in  the  text  hitherto,  —  and  Mr.  Dyce  '  soil.'     As 


sc.  III.  NOTES.  467 


the  passage  has  been  always  punctuated  —  -with  a  semi- 
colon after  'night' — it  is  almost  senseless.  The  paradox 
is,  that  "  the  badge  of  hell,"  being  "  beauty's  crest,  be- 
comes the  heavens  well." 

p.  402.      " that  painting,    [andj  usurping    hair":  —  The 

conjunction  was  supplied  by  the  second  folio. 

"  " of  their  sweet  complexion  crack  "  :  —  '  Crack,' 

'  talk,'  '  gossip,'  is  still  in  use  in  England,  though, 


I  beheve,  entirely  unknown  here. 

p.  403.     " plodding  prisons  up  "  :  — Folio  and  quarto  mis- 
print "poisons." 

"  "  Teaches  such  learning  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  beauty  " 

—  a  word  with  little  or  no  meanmg  here.  Mr.  Collier's 
folio  of  1632  furnishes  the  woixl  in  the  text,  which  might 
be  mistaken  in  MS.  for  '  beauty,'  and  which  the  two  fol- 
lowing lines  show  to  be  correct. 

p.  404.      " in  the  Hesperides  "  :  —  that  is,  in  the  gardens 

of  the  Hesperides.  There  is  no  need  of  supposing  that 
Shakespeare  thought  the  Hesperides  themselves  to  be 
gardens  ;  although  Robert  Greene,  Master  of  Arts  in  both 
Universities,  did  write  in  Ms  Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  of 
"  the  fearful  dragon  " 

"  That  watched  the  gardens  call'd  Hesperides." 

"  "  And  when  Love   speaks,"  &c.  :  —  Mr.  Smger  well 

remarks,  that  few  passages  have  been  more  discussed  than 
this  ;  and  where  all  editors  and  commentators  have  found 
some  difficulty  to  explain,  it  would,  perhaps,  be  presum- 
ing to  deny  that  any  exists.  But  the  sense  which  the 
passage  directly  and  clearly  conveyed  to  me  before  I 
had  been  informed  that  it  was  considered  obscure,  or 
suspected  it  to  be  so,  —  that  when  Love  speaks,  a  har- 
monious drowsy  hum  of  approval  from  the  voice  of  all 
the  gods  fills  Heaven,  —  stUl  cliiags  to  me  in  spite  of  all 
ingenious  glosses  and  attempts  at  emendation.  Theobald, 
on  Warburton's  suggestion,  read,  — 

"  And  when  Love  speaks  the  voice  of  all  the  gods, 

Mark  Heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony." 
And  the  change  in  punctuation  by  which  Love  is  made 
to  speak  the  voice  of  all  the  gods  has  been  generally 
received.  Steevens  suggested,  '  its  harmony.'  Heath  ex- 
plained the  passage  as  meaning,  "  Whenever  Love  speaks, 
all  the  gods  join  their  voices  with  his  in  harmonious  con- 
cert."    Tyrwhitt  suggested,  — 

"  And  when  Love  speaks  (the  voice  of  all)  the  gods 

Alake,"  &c. 


468  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.         ACT  v. 

Farmer,  — 
"  And  when  Love  speaks,  the  voice  makes  all  the  gods 
Of  Heaven  drowsy,"  &c. 
Charles  Knight  gives  an  explanation  much  like  that  of 
the  present   editor,   and  Mr.   Collier,  as  nsnal,    confines 
himself  to  recording  the  difference  of  a  letter  between  the 
old  copies. 

p.  405.     " that  loves  all  men  "  :  —  an  idiom  of  the  time  for 

'  that  all  men  love.' 


ACT    FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

p.  406.      " witty  without  affection  "  ;  —  Here  '  affection  ' 

is  used  for  '  affectation,'  '  audacious  '  for  '  self-possessed,' 
and  'opinion'  for  'self-conceit'  —  as  we  still  say  that  a 
man  is  '  opinionated.'  In  this  speech,  as  often  before  and 
after,  Armado  is  spelled  Armatho. 

p.  407.  " such  rackers  of  orthography,"  &c.  :  —  This  pas- 
sage has  especial  interest  on  account  of  its  testimony  as 
to  the  condition  of  our  language  when  it  was  written.  In 
his  pedagoguish  wrath,  the  Pedant  lets  us  knoAv  that  con- 
sonants now  silent  were  then  heard  on  the  lips  of  purists, 
that  compound  words  preserved  the  forms  and  soiuids  of 
their  elements,  and  that  vowels  were  pronounced  more 
purely  and  openly  than  they  now  are.  The  change  fi-om 
the  ancient  to  what  may  be  called  the  modern  pronunci- 
ation appears  to  have  begun,  among  the  more  cultivated 
classes,  just  before  Shakespeare  commenced  his  career,  and 
to  have  been  completed  in  the  course  of  about  fifty  years 
—  i.  c,  from  about  1.575  to  about  1625.  I  am  fully  aware 
of  the  difhculty  of  fixing  limits  to  such  changes,  and  of 
the  show  of  reason  with  which  it  might  be  maintained 
that  they  have  no  limits ;  but  as  there  Avere  periods  when 
our  language  had,  from  being  Anglo-Saxon,  become  suc- 
cessively Semi-Saxon,  Old  English,  Middle  English,  and 
English,  so  there  was  a  time  when  the  principles  upon 
■\vluch  rested  the  pronunciation  for  which  Ilolofcrncs  con- 
tends were  no  longer  thought  of,  among  that  class  of  peo- 
ple to  whom  we  look  as  the  best  speakers  of  a  language, 
and  vhen  those  which  yet  guide  us  became  in  vogue. 
"With  regard  to  the  completion  of  this  change,  the  follow- 
ing passages  from  Charles  Butler's  Em/lish  Grammar,  or 
the  Institution  of  Letters,  Si/Uabl^'s  and  Words  in  the  Eng- 
lish Tonr/iie,  4to.,  Oxford,  1633,  are  decisive  :  in  them 
will   be   tVnind   the  verj'  words   which  Ilolof ernes   cites. 


so.   I.  NOTES.  469 

"  Another  use  of  the  letters  is  to  show  the  derivation  of 
a  ■\voord  :  namely  when  wee  keep  a  letter  in  the  deriv- 
ative, &c.  .  .  .  Also  when  a  letter  not  sounded  in 
the  English  is  yet  written,  becaus  it  is  iai  the  language 
froni  whence  the  woord  came  :  as  6  in  debt,  doubt  ;  e  in 
Geort/e;  g  in  deseign,  flegme,  reign,  signe  ;  h  m  Thomas,  ciu- 
thoriti,  [See  Introduction  to  Much  Ado,  &c.] ;  I  in  sake,  &c., 
&c."  (P.  3.)  "  L  after  a  and  before/,  v,  k  or  m  is  vulgarly 
sounded  like  u  (or,  ^\-ith  the  a,  like  the  diphthong  au) ; 
before  /'  as  in  calf,  half ;  before  w  as  in  salv,  calvs,  halvs, 
&c.,  &c."  (P.  18.')  Butler  was  a  Master  of  Arts  of  Mag- 
dalen College,  and  his  Grammar  is  a  curious  and  valu- 
able contribution  to  the  later  history  of  our  language. 

But  the  isolation  of  the  Englishmen  of  New  England, 
and  their  consequent  protection  from  exterior  influences, 
caused  changes  in  pronunciation,  as  well  as  in  idiom,  to 
take  place  miich  more  slowly  among  them  than  among 
their  brethren  who  remained  in  the  mother  country  ;  and 
the  orthoepy  for  which  the  worthy  Pedant  contends  is 
not  very  far  removed  from  that  of  the  grandfathers  and 
great-grandfathers  of  the  present  generation  in  the  more 
sequestered  parts  of  the  Eastern  States.  The  scholars 
among  these,  as  well  as  those  who  had  received  only  that 
common-school  education  which  no  Yankee  is  allowed  to 
lack,  did  not,  for  instance,  in  Holofemian  plu-ase,  speak 
coud  and  u-oud  fine,  but  pronounced  all  the  consonants, 
could  and  would ;  they  said  syvord,  not  sored ;  they  pro- 
nounced '  have  '  to  rhjone  \\T.th  '  rave,'  not  hao,  —  'jest,' 
which  used  to  be  ■\\Titten  j  east,  jeest,  to  rhjTne  with 
'  yeast,'  —  '  pert,'  which  of  old  was  spelled  peart,  peert ; 
and  in  compound  words  they  said,  for  instance,  '  clean-ly,' 
not  clen-ly,  and,  correctly,  '  an-gel,'  '  cham-ber,'  '  dan- 
ger,' not  ane-gel,  chame-ber,  dane-ger.  Their  accents  yet 
linger  in  the  ears  of  some  of  us,  and  make  the  words  of 
ShakesjDcare's  pedagogue  not  altogether  strange.  It  is 
true  that  this  note  assists  neither  to  determine  Shake- 
speare's text  nor  to  illustrate  his  meaning  ;  but,  perhaps, 
for  its  subject's  sake,  it  will  be  acceptable  to  those  who 
love  the  language  in  which  Shakespeare  wrote. 

p.  407.      " it   insinuateth   me  of  insanie"  :  —  Folio   and 

quarto  have  ^'  infamie"  for  ^insanie,'  which  Theobald 
corrected. 

"  "  Quare  chirrah,  not  sirrah"  : — We  learn  from  this 

passage  that  at  the  time  when  this  play  was  written  it 
was  becoming  the  fashion  to  pronounce  'sirrah'  shirra, 
as  it  was  to  pronounce  '  suitor '  shooter.  See  Note  on 
"  She  that  bears  the  bow,"  Act  IV.  Sc.  I.  This  corrup- 
tion of  s  to  sh  before  u  or  *,  is  like  that  of  d  to  j  before 


T 


470  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.         ACT  v. 

ti,  or  letters  which  have  its  sound :  as  some  folk  think  it 
elegant  to  bid  one  '  a  Jew,'  because  '  the  jeios  are  falling.' 

p.  408.  "  The  third  of  the  five  vowels  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto 
have  "  The  last,"  ■which  is  an  obvious  error. 

"         " a  quick  vcneto  of  wit  "  :  —  This  fencing  term 

was  in  constant  use  in  the  metaphorical  sense  of  '  hit '  : 
as,  for  instance,  "bemg  driven  [i.  e.,  coquettish  women] 
from  their  warde,  they  ly  so  open  that  they  are  soone 
venued."  Guazzo's  Civile  Conversation.  4to.  158(). 
fol.    13.5  b. 

"  " at  the  C/frt/ye-house  "  :  —  "\Ve  shall  probably  be 

without  an  explanation  of  this  phrase  until  ^\■e  discover 
the  story  on  which  the  play  is  founded.  Steevens  sup- 
posed it  to  meaii  '  free-school,'  though  it  is  difficult  to 
conjecture  why.  Mr.  Collier's  folio  has  '  larr/e  house  ; ' 
but  as  the  original  has  "  Charge-house,"  with  a  cap- 
ital C,  the  misprint  is  hardly  probable. 

p.  409.  "  I  do  beseech  thee,  remember  thy  courtesy ;  .  .  .  —  I 
do  beseech  thee,  apparel  thy  head"  :  —  Difficulty  has 
been  found  here,  which  has  not  been  explained,  and 
which  Malone  proposed  to  obviate  by  reading  "  remem- 
ber not  thy  courtesy  "  —  an  interpolation  which  Mr.  Dyce 
pronounces  "  absolutely  necessary."  But  the  obscurity 
has  arisen  from  supposmg  both  sentences  to  be  adch'cssed 
to  the  same  person.  The  Clown,  who  was  present  as  well 
as  the  Pedant,  probably  forgot  the  courtesy  A\-hich  the 
other  remembered ;  and  Armada  reminds  the  peasant  of  his 
duty  to  his  betters,  and  waives  the  civility  on  the  paii 
of  Ilolqfernes.  We  must  constantly  remember  that  thest 
plays  were  -vrntten  only  to  be  acted. 

In  the  next  line  the  quarto  has  "  important "  instead 
of  '  importunate.' 

p.  410.      " if  this  fadye  not  "  :  —  i.  e.,  suit  not. 

"  " dance  the  hay  "  :  —  The  '  hay '  was  an  old  Eng- 

lish country  dance,  which  seems  to  have  been  a  very 
lively  one,  from  the  following  allusions  to  it :  "  Their 
violent  turning  and  wild  whirUng  huyes."  Davies'  Or- 
chestra. 1622.  "  With  their  winding  haies,  active,  an- 
tique dances,"  &c.     Chapnum's  Widowa's  Tears.     1612. 

Scene  II. 

p.  411.  "He  made  her  melancholy,"  &c.  : — Five  lines  here 
are  accidentally  printed  as  prose  in  the  original. 

p.  412.      " past  cure  is  still  past  care  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto 

transpose  '  care  '  and  '  cure  '  in  this  old  adage. 

"  '•  'Ware  pencils,  ho  I  "  —  Folio  and  quarto  have  "  'Ware 


sc.   II.  NOTES.  471 

pensals.  Hoio?"  The  emendation  is  by  Mr.  Dyce,  who 
says  that  "how"  is  "merely  the  old  spoiling,  of' Ao,'  "  and 
cites  many  instances  in  support  of  his  opinion,  wliich  is 
much  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  o  w  had,  much  more  generally  than  it  now  has, 
the  pure  sound  of  o.  He  adds,  that  "  '  ho '  is,  of  course, 
equivalent  to  cease,  stop  —  a  meaning  A\hich  formerly  it 
often  bore  "  !  Has  it  ceased  to  bear  that  meaning  hi  Eng- 
land? 

p.  412.  " I  beshrew  all  shrews"  : — 'Shrew'  was  pro- 
nounced shrow  in  Shakespeare's  time,  of  which  pronun- 
ciation we  yet  have  remnants,  for  instance,  m  '  sew  '  and 
'  shew.'     The  quarto  has,  "  I  beshrow  all  shroios." 

p.  413.     " m  by  th' week  "  :  —  mstead  of  by  the  day; 

that  is,  firmly  engaged. 

"  " to  my  behests  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have  "  de- 

vice." The  text  is  that  of  the  second  folio,  and  both  sense 
and  rhyme  justify  it,  great  as  the  corruption  is  which  it 
supposes. 

"  "  So  persaunt-like  "  :  —  that  is,  so  sharply,  so  keenly. 

The  word,  from  '  pierce,'  (formerly  written  jaerse,)  was 
often  so  used.  The  original  has  ^^  pertaunt,"  with  the 
very  easy  error  of  a  ^  for  a  long  f.  Hanmer  read  '/jor- 
<e«<-like,'  and  has  been  generally  followed.  Cajiell  read 
'  jiacjeB-nt-Vike  ;  '  and  '  potently '  was  found  in  Sir.  Col- 
lier's folio  of  1632.  The  last  word  affords  a  good  sense, 
but  it  differs  too  widely  from  the  original,  and  does  not 
suit  the  caustic  Rosaline  so  well  as  that  in  the  text. 

"  " to  wantonness  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have  "  wan- 

tons be,"  which  was  corrected  in  the  second  folio. 

p.  414.      " mu-th  is  in  his  face  "  :  —  The  folio  omits  '  is.' 

p.  415.     " as  I  guess  "  :  —  This  line  is  without  a  rhjTne. 

It  may  be  the  first  of  a  couplet,  the  second  of  which  is 
lost,  and  which  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  sense  ; 
otherwise  it  is  the  third  of  a  triplet ;  but  the  former 
supposition  is  the  more  probable. 

"  " his  love-st»7  "  .-  —  Folio  and  quarto  have  "  love- 

f^at  "  —  an  error  for  which  the  longy  is  chiefly  responsi- 
ble. The  correction  was  found  m  ^Ir.  Collier's  folio 
of  1632. 

p.  416.      " turn  away  her  face  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  his," 

and  in  the  next  line  "  keepers  "  for  '  speakers,'  which  is 
found  in  the  quarto.  In  the  second  line  of  the  Princess' 
next  speech  '  e'er  '  appears  for  "  ne'er,"  which  is  found  in 
the  second  folio. 


472  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S    LOST.  ACT  V. 

p.  416.  "Enter  the  King,"  &c.  :  —  The  stage  direction  of  the 
original  is,  somewhat  oddly,  "Enter  Black  moores  with 
musicke,  the  Boy  with  a  speech,  and  the  rest  of  the  Lords 
disguised." 

"  "  Beauties  no  richer,"  &c.  :  —  This  speech  is  given  in 

the  original  to  Birone  ;  but  it  \vss  Boi/et  who  "  put  .'Ir- 
madr/s  page  out  of  his  part,"  as  we  learn  from  the  King 
just  before  the  ladies  join  their  lovers  on  the  return  of 
the  latter  in  their  own  habits.  The  use  of  the  same  mitial 
letter  as  a  prefix  caused  the  mistake,  wliich  occurs  again 
in  the  foHo  in  this  Scene,  when  Costard  enters  for 
Pompey.  Theobald  made  the  change,  and  all  editors 
and  commentators  have  acquiesced  in  it,  except  Mr.  Col- 
lier and  Mr.  Ivnight.  "  Tatfatu  "  refers  to  the  silk  masks 
of  the  ladies. 

p.  418.     " vouchsafe  but  one  change  "  :  —  The  quarto  has 

"  do  but  vouchsafe  one  change."  Tliis  is  one  of  nuiiiy 
variations  between  the  two  editions,  which  shows  that 
the  copy  of  the  quarto  from  which  the  folio  was  printed 
was  corrected  by  authority. 

II  «  "Why  take  you  hands  "  :  —  The  quarto  has  "  tee." 

"  «' Prize  you  yourselves"  : — The  folio  omits  'you'  — 

owing  to  the  repetition  of  the  syllable. 

p.  420.      "  Take  that,"  &c.  :  —  The  folio  has  "  Take  you  that." 

"  "  What,  was  your  visor  made,"  &c. :  —  In  the  original 

tlus  and  many  other  speeches  are  assigned  to  the  wrong 
characters.  The  errors  of  this  kind  are  so  numerous  in 
this  play,  and  so  easy  of  correction,  that  it  has  been  very 
rarely  necessary  to  point  them  out  particularly. 

"  " kingly  poor   flout  "  :  —  It  would   luive  seemed 

quite  unnecessary  to  point  out  that  this  expression  refers 
to  the  King's  lame  retort  at  parting,  had  not  "  killed  by 
poor  flout,"  which  was  found  in  ilr.  Collier's  folio  of 
1632,  been  received  with  some  favor,  and  had  not  Mr. 
Smger  thought  it  necessary  to  read  "  stung  by  poor  tiout." 

p.  421.  "  Qualm,  perhaps  "  :  —  I'lainly  '  qualm  '  Mas  pro- 
nounced calm,  which  gave  the  I'rinccss  an  opportunity 
for  her  jest ;  for  Longaville  would  surely  not  tell  his  mis- 
tress that  she  "  came  o'er  his  heart "  like  a  qualm  !  Thus 
'  (juote '  was  pronounced  cote,  and  so  printed,  and  some- 
times coat.  See  also  Note  on  qui,  qua-,  quod.  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

"  " plain  statute-caps  "  ;  —  An  Act  of  Parliament 

passed  in  1.371,  for  the  benefit  of  cappers,  enjoined,  that 
all  persons,  tcith  the  exception  of  noblemen  and  a  few  oth- 


sc.   ir.  NOTES.  473 

ers,  should,  on  Sunday  and  other  feast  days,  wear  wool- 
len caps  entiix'ly  of  English  make,  under  a  penalty  of  ten 
groats.     Strjjpe's  Annals  of  Queen  Elizabeth . 

p.  422.      '< command  me  any  service  to  her  "  :  —  Thus  the 

folio  :  the  quarto  has,  lamely  enough,  "  any  sei-\'ice  to 
her  thither?"  —  which  Capell  first  adopted.  He  has 
been  universally  followed  hitherto,  the  editors  also  read- 
ing, "  Where  is  the  Princess  ?  "  in  the  second  line  above, 
and  thus  obtaining  three  lines  of  poor  blank  verse. 
But  they  forgot  that  the  speeches  here  are  m  couplets 
or  alternate  rhj-mes.  If  the  quarto  were  ever  right,  ^\hich 
there  is  no  warrant  for  believing,  the  difference  from  it  is 
evidently  the  result  of  design.  With  the  next  line  begins 
the  verse  and  the  rh\-me. 

p.  423.      " when   Jove  doth  please  "  :  —  The   quarto  has 

"  God."  It  is  possible  that  the  change  was  made  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  statute  3  James,  touching  the  use  of 
the  name  of  the  Creator  ;  but  the  heathen  gods  are  much 
appealed  to  in  this  play. 

"  "  He  can  carve,  too  "  :  —  See  Note  on  "  She  carves," 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

"  " as  whales-hone  "  :  —  The  teeth  of  the  walrus, 

which  used  to  be  called  the  whale,  furnished  an  inferior 
sort  of  ivory.  Previous  editors  have  noticed  that  tvhales 
is  a  dissyllable,  though  they  have  strangely  failed  to  see 
that  the  same  is  true  with  regard  to  many  other  similar 
words  in  Shakespeare's  earlier  jjlays. 

"  "  Pay  him  the   due  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  dutie,"  and 

just  below,  both  folio  and  quarto  have,  "  this  7nad  man," 
—  both  evidently  errors  of  the  press. 

p.  42-i.     " i^^'j]  gentle  sweet  "  :  —  Folio  and  quarto  have 

no  word  in  the  place  of  '  My,'  which  was  inserted  by  Ma- 
lone.  The  second  folio  —  no  better  authority  as  to  a  lost 
word  —  reads,  "  Fair,  gentle  sweet,"  which  gives  a  much 
less  musical  Ime,  and  a  collocation  of  epithets  Avhich 
Birone  would  be  less  likely  to  apply  to  Rosaline. 

p.  42.5.     " thy  keen  conceit"  :  —  The  analogically  proper 

pronmiciation  of  this  word  was  in  vogue  when  this  play 
was  written,  and  made  it  a  perfect  rhjTne  to  '  wait.' 
The  diphthong  ei  had  then  almost  invariably  the  sound 
which  it  still  preserves  in  '  freight,'  '  obeisance,'  &c. 

p.  426.     " spruce  affection  "  :  —  Thus  folio  and  quarto ; 

bvit  all  modern  editors,  Mr.  Collier  excepted,  read  '  affec- 
totion,'  although  'affection'  Avas  the  form  most  commonly 
used  in  Shakespeare's  day: — just  before.  Sir  Nathaniel 
says,  "  witty  without  affection."  Besides,  if  we  read 
Dd2 


474  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.         act  v. 

*  affectation,'  Ave  must  pronounce  hy-pir-bo-lis  ;  whereas 
Shakespeare  used  that  word  as  a  trisyllable,  hy-pir-boles, 
as  we  see  by  this  line  in  Troilus  and  Crcssida,  — 

"  Would  seem  htj-per-boles.  At  this  fusty  stuif." 
It  should  be  remarked  also  that  affection  has  not  our 
modem  trisyllabic  pronunciation,  but  one  siniilar  to  that 
which  such  words  have  in  French  verse  —  sS-fec-ti-on  : 
thus  it  rhymes  with  os-tcn-ta-<i-o?j.  This  pronunciation 
of  words  ending  in  tion  is  not  uncommonly  foiuid  ui  the 
literature  of  Shakespeare's  day. 

p.  426.  "Sans  '  sans' "  :  —  The  French  word  'sans'  was  in 
common  use  in  the  polite  society  of  Shakespeare's  time  ; 
but,  like  many  others  that  have  enjoyed  the  same  favor, 
it  failed  to  become  domesticated.  Birone,  who  had  just 
forsworn  "  taffata  phrases  "  for  "  russet  yeas  and  honest 
kersey  noes,"  has  yet,  as  he  says,  "  a  trick  of  the  old 
rage." 

"  " Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  "  :  —  This  Avas  written 

on  the  doors  of  houses  infected  with  the  plague  ;  and  the 
plague  spots  were  called  '  the  Lord's  tokens.' 

p.  427.     " you  force  not  to  forswear  "  :  — '  Force '  seems  to 

have  been  used  of  old  for  '  weight,'  metaphorically  in  the 
sense  of  '  consequence,'  '  consideration  ;  '  and  thus  "  you 
force  not,"  means  'you  think  it  of  no  consequence.' 

p.  428.      " by  th'  squire":  —  i.e.,   square,  —  from   the 

French  '  esquierre.'  Boyet  knows  all  his  royal  mistress' 
whims  and  peculiarities ;  or,  m  an  old  English  phrase 
■which  has  died  out  here,  '  he  has  got  the  length  of  her 
foot.' 

you  are  allow'd  "  :  —  As  we  say,  *  you  are  priv- 


ileged.' 

p.  429.  "  You  cannot  beg  us  "  :  —  The  custody  of  idiots  and 
the  management  of  their  estates  could  be  granted  by  the 
Kmg  to  whomever  he  thought  proper ;  and  so  persons 
then  were  'begged'  for  fools  with  the  same  intent  with 
which  nowadays  they  are  sometimes  sent  to  lunatic  asy- 
lums. 

"  » but  to  pursent  one  man"  :  —  The  original  has 

"perfect,"  wliich,  though  hitherto  retained,  is  phiinly  a 
misjirint,  and  an  easy  one,  for  '  pursent,'  (spelled  with  a 
long  /,)  Avhich  the  Clown  uses  just  before.  '  Present' 
was  specially  ajiplied  to  the  assumption  of  character  on 
the  stage. 

worthy  of  Pompion  the  Great  "  :  —  In  the  pre- 


vious speech  the  original  has  "  Pompion,"  here  "  Pompey," 


sc.   II.  NOTES.  475 

which  seems  manifestly  an  error.  The  Clown  does  not 
know  "  the  degree  of  the  "Worthy,"  bvit  mistaking  his 
name  for  '  pompion,'  [  'pumpkin,']  he  supposes  him  to  be 
a  "poor  man." 

p.  429.  "  Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents  "  :  — 
These  two  lines  are  as  in  the  original.  The  poet,  had  he 
lived  now,  or  at  any  time  when  agreement  in  number  was 
absolutely  necessary,  and  had  no  rhyme  been  required 
for  '  presents,'  would  have  written  "  and  the  confe;*;." 
Much  difficulty  has  been  found  in  the  passage,  and  it  has 
been  subjected  to  many  alterations,  in  one  of  which, 
'  them'  for  '  that,'  in  the  second  line,  I  was^once  disposed 
to  concur.  But  no  change  is  necessary.  The  Princess  in 
the  preceding  and  two  succeedmg  liiies,  is  her  own  com- 
mentator upon  this  expression  of  the  mischievous  pleasure 
which  she  has  in  bathos. 

p.  i30.  "  Abate  a  thi-ow  at  Novem  "  :  —  '  Novem,'  or  '  Novem- 
quinque,'  was  a  game  of  dice  ;  so  called  from  the  impor- 
tant throws  being  nine  and  five. 

p.  431.  "  You  lie,"  &c. :  —  This  first  interruption  is  given  in  the 
original  to  Birona,  as  the  first  also  is  in  the  masking  inter- 
view in  the  early  part  of  this  Scene  ;  the  mistake  being 
due  to  the  identity  of  the  initial  letters  in  the  names 
Birone  and  Boyet. 

"  "With  libbarcVs  head  "  :  —  This  refers  to  the  masquine, 

which  Cotgrave  defines  (1611)  "  the  representation  of  a 
Lyon's  head,  &c.,  upon  the  elbow  or  knee  of  some  old- 
fashioned  garments."  The  caps  for  the  knees  and  elbows 
in  a  suit  of  plate  armor  were  also  frequently  wrought 
iiato  the  shape  of  a  lion's  or  leopard's  ('  libbard's')  head. 

"  " it  stands  too  right  "  :  —  It  must  be  remembered 

that  Alexander's  head  was  awry. 

p.  432.      " the  painted   cloth":  —  Painted    cloth   was   u 

cheap  sort  of  hangmg,  used  generally  m  halls,  instead  of 
arras  ;  and,  like  that,  was  adorned  with  representations 
of  classical  or  scriptural  subjects.  It  is  several  times 
mentioned  in  these  plays,  and  occurs  m  almost  every 
remaining  inventory  of  household  goods  made  ii\  Shake- 
speare's day.  See  some  in  Halliwell's  Life  of  Shake- 
ipeare. 

"  " sitting  on  a  close  stool  "  :  —  Toilet  pointed  out 

that  in  the  arms  assigned  to  the  Nine  W^orthies  in  Leigh's 
Accidence  of  Armory,  1597,  Alexander  is  made  to  bear, 
"  geules,  a  lion  seiante  in  a  chayer,  holdmg  a  battle-ax 
argent."  By  preserving,  as  Costard  did,  the  pure  sound 
of  the  last  a  in  '  Ajax,'  the  nature  of  his  pun  will  be 


476  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST.  act  t. 


made  apparent.  The  pole  axe  was  so  called  from  its 
Polish  origin  :  its  handle  Mas  short. 

p.  433.  "  A  kism'nrj  traitor  "  :  —  Onq  meaumg  of  '  cHi3 '  was  to 
embraee,  to  throw  the  arms  about ;  and  hence  Judas 
Maccabeus  clipped  is  called  a  kissiag  traitor.  "We  are  told 
that  the  old  Scotch  guillotme,  the  Maiden,  "clipped  its 
victim  about  the  neck  ;  "  and,  doubtless,  it  hence  received 
its  name. 

"  "A  cittern  head  "  :  —  The  heads  of  stringed  instru- 

ments were  of  old  generally  carved  grotesquely  into  hu- 
man or  bestial  forms,  as  they  sometimes  now  are  ;  and  the 
same  fashion  prevailed  with  regard  to  the  other  articles 
mentioned  afterwards. 

p.  43i.  "  A  f/ilt  nutmeg"  :  —  Tliis,  from  frequent  allusions  in 
the  literature  of  the  time,  appears  to  have  been  a  conmion 
gift ;  why,  it  is  impossible  to  say. 

"  "  [Peace  !  ]  "  :  —  This    exclamation,    and   the   words 

"  when  he  breathed,"  &c.,  in  Annudos  second  speech 
below,  are  found  only  in  the  quarto. 

p.  435.  "  [BiKOXE  goes  out"  : — Li  the  original,  "Bkrowxe 
steppes  forth."  Since  Capell's  edition,  it  has  been  the  uxii- 
versal  practice  to  make  Birone  whisper  Costard,  who  is 
kept  on  the  stage,  —  a  very  clumsy  arrangement,  as  well 
as  inconsistent  with  the  origmal  direction.  This  direc- 
tion shows,  that  although  no  entrance  is  marked  in  the 
original.  Costard  (whose  exit  is  there  directed  ^\■hen  the 
Princess  says,  "  Stand  aside,  good  P(mipey  ")  comes  run- 
ning in,  crying,  "The  party  is  gone,"  &c.,  after  Birone 
has  put  him  up  to  the  trick.  Mr.  Collier's  folio  has,  in 
the  latter  jjlace,  "  Enter  Costard  hastihj,  and  unarmed." 

"  " she's  quick  "  :  —  See  Costard's  next  speech  and 

the  Note  on  "  quick  Birone,"  in  the  early  part  of  this 
Scene. 

p.  436.  "  I  go  woolward  "  :  —  To  wear  wool  next  the  skin  was 
a  milder  form  of  the  hair-shirt  penance. 

p.  437.      " a  nimble  tongue":  —  The  original  has"//(/m- 

ble"  a  word  without  meaning  here.  Theobald  read 
•  nimble,'  which  was  found  also  iji  Mr.  Collier's  folio  of 
163'J,  and  which  the  context  shows  to  be  coiTcct  ;  for  the 
Princess  adds,  '  —  and  so  (that  is,  because  a  heavy  heart 
bears  not  a  nimble  tongue)  excuse  me  for  coinin;/  so  short 
of  thanks.' 

"  "  The  extreme  haste  of  time,"  &(•  :  —  1"he  original  has, 

"parts  of  tune,"  an  evident  corruption.  The  correction, 
which  is  Mr.  Singer's,  is  justified  by  the  sense  of  the  three 


sc.   II.  LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST,  477 

following  lines,  as  well  as  by  the  ease  with  which  the  old 
h,  with  a  bow  below  the  line,  might  be  mistaken  for  p, 
and  the  likeness  between  r  and  s  in  MS.  at  any  time. 

p.  437.      " my  griefs  are  dull  "  :  —  The  origmal  has  "  my 

griefs  are  double."  The  correction  was  made  in  Mr.  Col- 
lier's folio  of  1632  ;  and  the  reply  which  the  line  elicits 
from  Birone  fully  justifies  the  change. 

p.  438.      '*  Full  of  strange  shapes  "  :  —  The  origmal  has  "  stray- 
ing," —  a  palpable  misprint. 

"  "  As  bombast,  and  as  linmg  "  :  —  <  Bombast '  being  the 

material  which  was  used  to  stuff  out  dresses,  the  word 
was  used  to  signify  any  filling  or  pufling  out.  Thus, 
<'  so  that  they  have  to  bombast  their  bellies  Mith  good 
store  of  meate."  Guazzo's  Civile  Conversation,  1591, 
fol.  187  b.  "  Studie  should  rather  make  him  leane  and 
thinne,  and  pull  out  the  bumbast  of  his  corpulent  doub- 
let."    Ibid.,  fol.  190  a. 

in  our  respects  "  :  —  The  original  has  "  are," 


which  Hannier  corrected. 

p.  439.  "  And  what  to  me,"  &c.  :  —  The  five  succeeding  lines 
in  reply  to  this  question  are  repeated  afterward  almost  in 
terms,  and  with  amplification,  by  Rosaline.  Various  edit- 
ors have  suggested  that  they  should  be  omitted  altogeth- 
er ;  and  it  is  evident  that  they  are  the  first  cb-aft  of  the 
thought,  and  by  oversight  were  not  struck  out  when  the 
jDlay  was  augmented  ;  the  partmg  tilt  between  these  two 
wits  having  then  been  made  the  close  of  the  conference. 

p.  440.     " for  thy  love  "  :  —  The  folio  has  "  for  my  love." 

p.  441.      " their  own  dear  groans"  :  — Mr.  Collier's  foho 

of  1632  has  "dire  groans,"  Avhich  is  a  very  specious  alter- 
ation ;  but  see  the  first  Ime  of  Act  II.  Sc.  1  of  this  play  :  — 

"  Now,  Madam,  sununon  uj)  your  dearest  spirits." 
King  Henry  IV.,  too,  calls  his  son  his  "dearest  [i.  e.,  his 
greatest]  enemy."     The  use  of  the  word  in  this  superla- 
tive sense  was  common. 

p.  442.  "And  lady-smocks"  :  —  This  and  the  next  line  are 
transposed  in  the  original.  The  first  '  Tu-whit '  is  also 
omitted  in  Winter  s  staiizas.  Theobald  made  the  neces- 
sary correction.  The  structure  of  the  stanzas  requires 
both  changes. 

p.  443.     " doth  keel  the  pot  "  :  —  To  '  keel  a  pot '  was  to 

cool  it  bv  stirring  the  boiling  contents  with  a  ladle. 


EXD    OF    VOL.   III. 


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